


The Magic In Your Heart

by AlElizabeth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Family, Friendship, Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: AU Lord Voldemort has been vanquished, his followers disbanded and the Wizarding community is at peace. But, lurking just below the surface are Dark forces intent upon bringing back the terror that gripped the magical world all those years ago. Sam and Dean and their friends must fight as they never have before to stop the rise of an unspeakable evil.





	1. Dean's Letter

Dean Winchester woke early on the morning of January twenty-fourth, his birthday, and felt a jolt of excitement unlike any he'd ever experienced before.

Today was his eleventh birthday.

Sitting up, Dean pushed his flannel blankets off and swung his legs out, his feet coming to rest upon the rug at the side of the bed. For a moment, the eleven-year old wiggled his toes into the thick, soft fabric of the rug before standing up, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking under his weight.

Rocking back onto his heels, Dean surveyed his bedroom, trying to decide if it looked different now that he was eleven. Above the head of his bed, attached to the wall with Spello-tape was a poster with moving pictures of his favourite Quidditch team, the Falmouth Falcons, with their motto, "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads," written in black block letters at the bottom of the poster. A toy broomstick, with a spell to only allow it to rise about a foot and a half off the ground leaned against his wardrobe, gathering dust. The cards from Chocolate Frogs lay strewn all over the top of a shelf filled with books Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd read. A window across from his bed showed a perfect view of the quaint thatch-roofed houses along the snow-covered street, only a minute's walking distance from the shops that served the village and surrounding area.

The boy's green-eyed gaze took in the familiar items that filled his room, offering a sense of comfort and security, and decided that even though he was eleven, he felt no different than he had the day before.

Stomach grumbling suddenly, Dean realized he was hungry and headed towards the doorway, eager for breakfast.

Easing his bedroom door open, the boy peered down the hallway to see that his brother was still asleep; his door closed tightly.

Deciding to let his brother sleep a little longer, Dean left his bedroom door ajar and walked as quietly as possible down the hallway towards the staircase.

Making his way slowly down the steep set of steps, the eleven-year old peered curiously into the kitchen.

The kitchen was the warmest room in the cottage; a large wood-burning stove squatted in the center of the room, used for both cooking and heating, with an old wooden table, scratched and pitted from years of abuse, sat a few feet away from the stove. On the tabletop, where Dean usually sat, was a small pile of gifts wrapped in bright paper and an envelope made of creamy, white paper.

The eleven-year old jumped over the last few steps and landed heavily on the first floor, the boards groaning in protest. Dean barely noticed the noise he'd made as his gaze as locked on the envelope and the letter that was surely inside.

Not bothering to sit down, the boy picked up the letter and brought it close to his face, examining the circle of wax the colour of red wine sealing the envelope shut. Turning the piece of mail over, Dean read the address written in dark green ink on the front of the envelope:

Mr. Dean Winchester

Second Bedroom to the Right

19 Pilfer Avenue

Hogsmeade Village

Nairn

Fingers shaking, Dean carefully peeled open the envelope and eased the two sheets of paper out, moving with gentle precision as though afraid to tear the pages.

Taking a deep breath, the boy read the letter addressed to him out loud, "Dear Mr. Winchester, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September-"

The sound of heavy footsteps startled the boy and he looked up at the staircase to see his father already halfway down the steps.

"Dad," Dean said, surprised, "I thought you were at work."

John shook his head, "I asked for the day off so I could spend some time with you boys for your birthday."

The eleven-year old nodded and smiled, raising the papers in his hand.

"I got my letter!" he announced, unable to hide his excitement, "I'm going to Hogwarts!"

John smiled and moved the rest of the way to the main floor of the cottage. As he walked into the kitchen he paused, opened the door to the stove and shoved two pieces of cordwood inside before closing and locking it.

"What would you like for breakfast?" he asked his eldest son, coming to stand behind Dean and put his large, calloused hands on the boy's shoulders, giving an affectionate squeeze.

"Bacon and eggs?" Dean asked and John chuckled, "How did I know you were going to say that?"

The boy shrugged and returned his gaze to his acceptance letter as his father took out two cast-iron frying pans and sat them on top of the stove.

"Can we go and get my supplies today?" Dean asked, biting his lip, "You have the day off."

"We'll see, all right," John told him and Dean nodded in understanding.

"Would you go wake Sam up?" the eldest Winchester asked, "And then you can open your presents."

"Okay," Dean said and set his letter down on the table, carefully, and headed upstairs to get his younger sibling.

The eleven-year old crept down the hallway towards his brother's bedroom and eased the door open, peeking in at the sleeping seven-year old.

Sam lay cocooned in his blankets; a worn blue fabric teddy bear clenched to his chest even though their father insisted the boy was too old to sleep with stuffed animals. The younger boy's room looked very much like his brother's, but for the well-loved books on the shelf, a set of wizard's chess on the floor by the window, and a poster of "Newt" Scamander alongside a black and white Hippogriff instead of a Quidditch team over the head of the bed.

Dean crouched down and crept across the floor silently until he reached his sibling's bed. Pausing for a moment, listening to Sam's light breathing, Dean smirked as he reached out and carded a hand through his brother's chestnut locks.

"D'n?" the seven-year old muttered, eyes opening halfway.

"Hey Squirt," Dean smiled, "Wakey-wakey Eggs n'Backey."

The little boy giggled and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Guess who's here?" Dean asked and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

Sam frowned, "Ms. Gibbons?"

Dean snorted laugher; Temple Gibbons, or as the boys referred to her, Ms. Gibbons, lived in 21 Pilfer Avenue- right beside the Winchesters- and had been the brothers' sitter when they were too young to be left on their own. Although the boys adored the elderly witch, considering her to be a grandmother figure, she had a bad habit of trying to force magic from the brothers, insisting that that was how her family had discovered her powers. Some of the witch's tactics were harmless, such as when she would suddenly appear behind one boy and scare the living daylights out of him, but others were more… questionable in nature. John and the boys knew Ms. Gibbons would never do anything to intentionally harm them but eventually the father had had to suggest that Dean was old enough to look after his brother and himself while he was away.

"No, Nerd," Dean smiled, "Dad got the day off!"

Sam's eyes brightened instantly, "Dad's here?"

His older brother nodded and moved out of the way as Sam moved to the edge of the bed.

"Did you get it?" the seven-year old asked, eyeing his brother curiously.

Dean knew exactly what his little brother was talking about, he couldn't help the anticipation that had been with him for weeks as his eleventh birthday approached, telling Sam he was sure to get his letter.

Dean of course, had already displayed magical tendencies or 'accidental' magic all witches and wizards displayed in their youth, for years before his eleventh birthday. From making it rain inside when he was sorely grieved after hearing his favourite Quidditch team had lost the World Cup to turning an unappetizing meal of liver and onions into strawberry pie, it was clear from a young age that Dean would grow up to be a powerful wizard.

"I did," the older brother said, "I'll be going to Hogwarts in September."

Sam nodded and slid off the bed, saying nothing more about the letter.

Dean frowned as he followed his brother down the hallway.

His sibling, already seven-years old had failed to show any magical ability at all- despite Ms. Gibbons' attempts to push the magic out of the boy- and although Dean and John both insisted Sam was just a late bloomer, the older brother was worried that his sibling might not be a wizard at all. He had heard that sometimes the children of wizards and witches were born with no magic, and were essentially muggles. They were never outcasts, exactly, but it couldn't be easy for them to live in a world where everyone else had the fantastic, amazing ability to perform spells and charms in the blink of an eye and they couldn't. Dean supposed some of them just lived quiet, nondescript lives, not discriminated against but kind of pitied for their lack of magic, or else they relocated to the muggle world where at least they seemed like everybody else.

Don't worry, Sammy, Dean thought; you'll get there, you'll see. Just be patient.

Almost stepping on his sibling's heels as he followed his brother, the smell of frying bacon and eggs, brewing coffee and hot cocoa making Dean's stomach growl again and his mouth water with longing.

Dean took his seat at the table, directly across from his sibling and turned to look at his father who was poking at the sizzling bacon with a fork.

"Ready?" John asked and set the utensil aside, and sat on the edge of the table beside his eldest son.

Dean reached out and picked up the first gift, a sphere-shaped object a little bigger than a golf ball, wrapped in gold paper with a red ribbon.

The eleven-year old pulled off the ribbon and tore open the paper to reveal a clear glass ball with a pale white smoke floating inside.

"A Remembrall," Dean said, "Who got me this?"

Sam giggled and put a hand over his mouth.

Dean looked at him, "You did?"

The seven-year old nodded, smiling from behind his hand, "You always forget stuff. So it'll help you remember."

"I do not always forget," Dean grumbled, but he was really quite pleased with the gift, certain it would be useful in September.

"Open your next present," John interrupted, "It's from me."

The eleven-year old set the Remembrall on the table- the grey cloud turning a dark red- and picked up his second gift; this one thin and rectangular.

Dean's eyebrows knitted together in confusion for a moment and then he realized what he was holding: two tickets to go to a Quidditch game; not only that, the two teams were the Falcons against the Kenmare Kestrels.

"Thanks Dad," Dean stood up and gave his father a tight hug before sitting back down.

The last gift was the largest and was wrapped in metallic rose-coloured paper with a silver bow on top.

"Ms. Gibbons?" Dean asked, even though he knew the answer and John nodded, "She brought it over last night after you two were in bed."

The eleven-year old tore open the paper to reveal a clutch of sweets from Honeydukes. Ms. Temple Gibbons had packaged all the treats in clear cellophane and Dean could see a wide selection: cauldron cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, treacle fudge, Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans, and pink coconut ice.

"You be sure to thank her next time you see her," John told his son, "And you're not going to eat all that in one sitting."

"Now set all that aside, breakfast's almost ready," the father instructed and stood, taking three plates from one of the cupboards that bordered the kitchen.

Dean shoved his birthday presents to the far end of the table and took the plate his father passed him, handing it in turn to his brother.

Once all three Winchesters were seated, they ate their breakfast without another word.

SPN

John gathered the plates and silverware once breakfast was finished, contemplating another mug of coffee when he turned to the table after setting the dishes beside the sink to be washed later.

Dean and Sam were right behind him, staring up wide-eyed expressions of hopefulness.

"Can we go get my school things now?" Dean asked.

John sighed, "I don't know, Dean, I'm tired today."

"Please Dad," the eleven-year old begged; "If we go now, you won't have to do it later."

"I have to get a Portkey," John told him, reminding his son how travelling within the wizarding world was not easy for him.

"Where is it?" Dean asked, "Who has one?"

"Dumbledore," John began but his son interrupted, "We'll go with you, right Sammy? Can we, Dad? Can we go with you while you get the Portkey?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" the father asked, one dark eyebrow raised at his sons.

Dean shook his head, elbowed his sibling in the ribs and Sam shook his head as well.

John sighed; he had to appreciate Dean's eagerness to go buy school supplies as very little- other than Quidditch, of course- seemed to excite the boy.

He smiled, "All right, but you both need to be on your best behaviour, you hear me?"

Both of his sons affirmed that they heard him.

"Good," John said, "Let's head out now then."

Making his way to the front door of the cottage, John paused to pull on his boots and jacket, a toque and gloves. He waited patiently as his sons dressed, making sure they had scarves and hats and mittens so they wouldn't get cold on the walk to Hogwarts.

Ushering his sons out the front door, John locked up- though there really was no need, no one would want anything he had- and faced his boys.

"You have your letter, Dean?" he asked and the eleven-year old nodded importantly.

John started off down the narrow garden path and out through the gate that only came up to his knees.

The houses on the street looked like they had been cut out from a Christmas card. Each one was coated in a thick blanket of snow and many still had evergreen wreaths on their doors. A sweet scent of mulling spices filled the air and the atmosphere was festive, despite Christmas being over a month ago. John knew that many people in the village would keep the decorations up until the snow had melted.

The road was wide and well travelled. Since there were no cars and only the occasional horse-drawn carriage for those who were romantic enough to ride one, the Winchesters could walk at their own pace without fear of being run down.

John smiled at the sight of a snow shovel working all by itself in a neighbour's yard, charmed to do the chore independently of a witch or wizard.

His sons were in a happy, playful mood, pausing every few feet to make snowballs and run ahead of one another, laughing and teasing.

The small family left the residential area of the village and began moving past the shops and pubs.

As they passed the Three Broomsticks Inn, its proprietor, Madame Rosmerta leaned out the door and called to the father, "Fancy coming in for a butter beer? Or something stronger, John Winchester?"

The father shook his head and gestured to his sons, their faces plastered to the window of Zonko's Joke Shop across the street, "It's Dean's birthday today. We're going to get him his school supplies."

The buxom blonde witch grinned, "Eleven already! My, it seems as though just yesterday he was a tyke!"

John smiled back but continued on his way, catching up his sons and peeling them away from the shop window.

W

The walk to Hogwarts took thirty minutes, usually it took John twenty but with his sons, it lengthened the journey. Not that he minded, he had the day off and it was his eldest's birthday after all.

Once they left Hogsmeade village, the open, snow-draped hills and valleys of the Scottish Highlands surrounded the family. It was eerily quiet, with only the wailing of the wind for company, and John was glad his boys had never had to walk this road on their own. They both knew to stay in the village whenever he was away though he himself felt far safer walking this stretch of land than if he had been in the muggle world.

An enormous stonework wall surrounded Hogwarts, with a wrought-iron gate flanked by pillars atop which sat winged boars.

Inside the grounds, a few yards from the entrance gate stood a small guardhouse. A narrow chimney sticking out from the roof of the guardhouse belched black smoke. Although it appeared occupied, no one could be seen within the guardhouse but the gates opened up to admit the Winchesters without a sound.

John stepped through the gates as he had done a hundred times before, his sons waiting for him to proceed before they followed.

Following the path up to the school, the Winchesters passed the Black Lake and Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest and Rubeus Hagrid's hut behind them and to their right.

Dean stared wide-eyed at the school, clearly trying to imagine what his life would be like in September. John smiled. The boys had only been inside the school a handful of times and it seemed as though every time they visited it was as though they were seeing it for the first time.

The father guessed he had been the same way, at first, now though, he knew the school like the back of his hand, every nook and cranny. Of course Hogwart's hadn't given up all of its secrets, but John felt as though he knew the school well enough that he wouldn't get lost if the staircases decided to be playful and tried dumping him on some remote landing.

Taking the wide limestone steps up to the front doors of the school, John paused, allowing his boys to catch their breath.

After a moment, the father pushed open the tall wooden doors and stepped into the front entryway.

With a cavernous roof, the entry hall loomed over anyone walking through it, the only decoration were four large hourglasses sitting along one wall, each holding coloured gems representing the colours of the four Houses: red for Gryffindor, green for Slytherin, blue for Ravenclaw and yellow for Hufflepuff.

John walked quickly past the display, having seen it every day when he arrived for work and every evening before he left for home, and called to his sons to hurry.

Breakfast for the students had commenced and the hallways were quiet, leaving only a few stragglers and ghosts to roam the corridors, no one paying attention to the Winchesters.

John strode on ahead, his sons jogging to keep up with his pace as he moved along the hallways and staircases with a confidence born of spending a great deal of time in them. After ten minutes, the family arrived at the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office: a spiral staircase with a gargoyle at the top, hiding and guarding the Headmaster's door. The eldest Winchester remained in the lead as the family made its way up the staircase, the walls claustrophobically close, and paused to stand in front of the statue leering down at them as though it were alive.

"Everlasting Gobstopper," John announced and the gargoyle moved to the side, revealing a wooden door with a brass handle. The father grasped the door handle and pushed inward, the door opening as easily as though it were new though it was centuries old.

John froze when his sons abruptly pushed past him and into the Headmaster's office.

"Dean! Sam!" he snapped when he caught sight of Ablus Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, head bowed as he read from a thick tome.

The elderly wizard looked up at the sound of the father's voice and closed his book, smiling.

Both boys dug their hands into the large bowl of toffees sitting on the Headmaster's desk, cramming the sweets into their mouths.

"Boys," John said in a warning tone as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

Both boys gave their father sheepish expressions and withdrew their hands from the bowl.

Dumbledore chuckled, "No harm done, they're only sweets."

John nodded, "But I raised my sons to have more manners than that."

The elderly wizard chuckled, "Sometimes youthful exuberance can outweigh their momentary loss of manners."

John said nothing, familiar with the sometimes cryptic words of the Headmaster.

"Now, I suppose there is a reason for coming to see me," Albus tented his fingers as he spoke.

"Dean got his letter," John told him, "Though you probably already know that."

Dumbledore nodded and smiled at Dean.

"He wants to go to Diagon Alley today to get his school things," John continued, ignoring the portrait of former headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black giving him a suspicious look from behind Dumbledore, as he always did.

"A fine idea," the wizard agreed, "Never put off tomorrow, what you can do today. A muggle spoke those words I believe, an American president if I'm correct."

John hesitated, not sure if Dumbledore wanted an answer, than offered, "Thomas Jefferson, Headmaster."

The elderly wizard nodded and there was a moment of silence.

"Do you have a Portkey we could use?" the elder Winchester asked finally, the pregnant pause only by the sticky sounds of his sons chewing and the soft cooing of Fawkes the phoenix.

The Headmaster sat back, "I do. Let me just find it for you."

John watched as the wizard began opening drawers in his desk and closing them, seeking out the Portkey. The man could seem at times a bit senile and certainly strange, but John respected the man a great deal and owed him even more. If not for Albus Dumbledore, John wasn't sure where he or his sons would be today.

"Ah," the wizard said, "Here it is."

Pulling a small, item wrapped in a spotted handkerchief from his desk, the Headmaster smiled.

"I knew I had one," he said, "Always good to keep one at hand. This one will take you to Diagon Alley, allow you to stay for exactly two hours before it won't work. Remember that: two hours."

John smiled, knowing that Dumbledore always kept a Portkey around for him, since he couldn't perform magic.

"Thank you, Headmaster," the father said and picked up the small package, slipping it into the pocket of his dark green Military-style jacket.

The elderly wizard nodded ever so slightly, his blue eyes sparkling.

"'Bye Headmaster," Dean said and took hold of his brother's hand.

Sam waved to the elderly wizard as the small family left his office.

SPN

Dean used his free hand to pull the collar of his jacket up against a cold wind that pushed against him as he and his family exited the massive front doors of the school.

They walked back down the neatly shoveled stone pathway that wound across the grounds to the front gates.

Sam walked alongside his sibling, not on the trail as he had earlier but in the snow at the side, lifting his feet as high as he could as he plowed through the cold, white powder.

"Sam," John said, "Your feet are going to get cold."

The seven-year old's shoulders slumped slightly and he moved onto the path behind his father.

"Can we play outside when we get back?" he asked John.

The father nodded, "If its not too late."

Dean held his breath for a moment, watching the white plume of condensation leave his mouth like a billow of dragon's smoke. He could hardly believe that in September- merely eight months- he'd be calling Hogwart's home. The boy smiled, imagining himself playing Quidditch as a Keeper or Seeker, maybe even Team Captain. He wondered what House he'd be placed in. He knew enough about Hogwarts to know that the Sorting Hat chose a student's House based on his or her personality traits.

I hope I get into Gryffindor, Dean thought.

"C'mon Dean, hurry up," John's voice called out and the eleven-year old looked up, not realizing that he was lagging behind his father and brother.

Dean jogged to catch up with his family only to stop again when John paused.

"We should be far enough from the school now," John told them and fished around in his pocket for the Portkey.

"You have your letter?" he asked his eldest son a second time and Dean nodded, feeling the thick paper sticking out of the pocket of his jeans.

John nodded; his dark brown eyes squinted against the cold wind. He withdrew his hand from his pocket, the spotted handkerchief grasped tightly in one fist. Opening his hand, the father unfolded the piece of fabric to reveal the Portkey, careful not to touch the item with his bare hand.

Dean leaned in towards the Portkey and frowned.

"That's it?" he asked as he peered incredulously down at a chewed, dried up wad of gum, now an unpleasant grey colour.

"You know they need to be things no one wants," John told him.

"Yeah, but its not like we're going to the Muggle world," Dean commented, "We're just going to Diagon Alley."

John shrugged, "I'm sure the Headmaster had his reasons for making this a Portkey."

Dean wrinkled his nose but lifted his hand, index finger out so that he could touch the bit of old gum without hindering his brother and father from doing so as well.

As soon as all three Winchesters were touching the Portkey, Dean felt the familiar uncomfortable sensation of a hook grabbing him behind his bellybutton and then his feet left the ground and the world around him began to spin.

He heard his brother cry out with fright- Sam always forgot what travelling by Portkey was like- and hoped that his brother wouldn't get sick this time… and then his feet hit solid ground.

Dean drew his hand away from the Portkey and staggered back, dizzy for a moment, jostled by a crowd of witches and wizards as the moved past him.

As the feeling of confusion passed, Dean was able to focus on his surroundings. Witches and wizards of all ages, in clothing that ranged from robes to dresses, jeans and jumpers, pressed in around them, heading to and fro as they went about their shopping.

Dean startled slightly as a small, cool hand gripped his own and he peered down to see his little brother staring up at him, hazel eyes wide, face pale and mouth trembling slightly.

"C'mere, Sammy," Dean murmured and reached down, picking his brother up, grateful that his brother was small for his age or else he wouldn't have been able to do so.

"You boys all right?" John asked as he put the Portkey back into his pocket.

Dean nodded even as his brother rested his head against his shoulder.

"Sam?" John asked.

"'M'okay," the seven-year old muttered.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean murmured to him, "You'll feel better in a few minutes."

"All right," John said, "We have two hours to get your shopping done before the Portkey stops working."

"Can we get my wand first?" Dean asked John, catching sight of Ollivander's wand shop just down the street.

John nodded, "We need to stop at Gringotts first though."

"Okay," Dean agreed and followed his father as he started towards the large, white, narrow building in front of them.

SPN

Dean had been right. Within about five minutes or so, the sick feeling disappeared and Sam insisted he was fine to walk on his own. He held tightly to his brother's hand however, as it was easy to become separated in the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.

Sam had to walk quickly to keep up with his brother, his boots thudding against the cobblestone walkway.

He had to take large steps, like the ones he'd practiced in the snow, to make it up the marble stairs of Gringotts bank. He followed his father and brother as John pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was warm inside the bank, and damp, with the sounds of high-pitched goblin voices and the metallic clank of coins on coins. The entire room was built of creamy white marble, polished to a high shine, with candle-burning chandeliers to give light.

John paused in the foyer, searching his pockets for the two keys he would need. Once he found them, he continued toward the long desk that ran around the large atrium, punctuated by openings that led to where the vaults were.

Sam, too short to see over the high desk, listened as his father greeted the goblin bank teller and explained that he wanted to take money out of vaults eight hundred twenty-two and nine hundred seventy-six.

"Follow me," the goblin instructed and Sam followed his father and brother through the pathway that cut through the desk and allowed wizards and witches to access their money.

Behind the desk were tunnels leading deep underground, where wizard and witches money was kept, and the tunnels were cool but still damp, with stalagmites and stalactites and rough-hewn walls. A narrow track, similar to one on which a train would run, ended at the entrance of every tunnel.

The goblin stopped just in front of this track, forcing the Winchesters to pause behind him. Clearing his throat, the creature raised a small brass whistle to his lips and blew one short, sharp note. Moments later, a vehicle that looked like a coal cart came rattling up the track and stopped in front of them.

Sam knew that although the cart didn't look big enough for all of them to ride in, looks were deceiving.

The goblin motioned to the family to climb into the cart and they did so obediently, Sam squeezed in beside his brother with John wedged in behind them. The goblin positioned itself at the front of the cart and as soon as he took his seat, the cart shot off down the winding track like a rocket so fast Sam's hair blew back from his face and water leaked from his eyes.

Sam might not have liked travelling by Portkey but he loved the hairpin turns and insane speed of the carts. To him, it seemed as though this would be what riding a rollercoaster would be like, only better.

Unable to contain his excitement, the seven-year old raised his hands over his head and let out a whoop.

The goblin steering the cart peered over his shoulder at the boy with a disapproving glance but Sam didn't care.

Suddenly the cart jerked to a halt in front of a vault with a heavy metal door and a plaque about it reading: 822

"Vault eight hundred and twenty-two," the goblin announced and hopped off the cart, waiting for the humans to exit the vehicle, before pulling out the key John had given him and unlocking the door.

The elder Winchester pushed open the door and stepped inside, while both Sam and Dean peered into the vault from the doorway but not entering.

This vault had belonged to the boys' paternal grandfather, Henry Winchester, and now belonged to John.

Sam and Dean waited patiently as their father collected some gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts from the vault, the younger watching a couple of carts speeding past as the witches or wizards aboard headed to their own vaults.

Once John had gathered what he needed he exited the vault and the goblin closed the door and locked it. Climbing into the cart again, it took only for a moment for the vehicle to start again on its journey further into the mines.

"Maybe we'll see the dragon," Dean whispered in Sam's ear.

The seven-year old looked up sharply at his brother and Dean chuckled. In all the times they had been in Gringotts previously, they hadn't even seen as much as a scale to know for certain if there really was a dragon guarding the vaults or not.

The cart rattled around a corner and began rolling towards the way they had come for about a half-dozen feet before it again ground to a halt in front of a second vault.

"Vault nine hundred and seventy-six," the goblin announced and the Winchesters once again exited the vehicle.

This vault, though not as old as the previous one, still stood the test of time and held the wealth of a long-standing wizarding family. This vault had belonged to Mary before her untimely death and had served her family for many generations.

The goblin opened the door to the vault belonging to the Campbell family, and once again, John stepped inside.

Sam yawned widely as he and Dean waited for their father to finish. Despite the fact that John could access the money in both vaults, he could not create a vault of his own and add the currency of both families into one vault in his name because he himself was not a wizard. That bit of discrimination irritated him but it was a small price to pay and he tried not to worry about the unreasonable rules the goblins insisted on upholding.

Satisfied with the money he had gathered, John stepped out of the vault and the goblin closed and locked the door before handing over the keys to both vaults to the human.

The journey back to the atrium was quick and uneventful. The boys leapt from the cart and ran towards the front doors of the bank, eager to walk Diagon Alley and forcing their father to hurry after them.

"Sam, take your brother's hand," John instructed and the younger boy did as he was told, gripping his sibling's fingers tightly, knowing the crowd that awaited them as soon as they stepped outside.

Shoving the heavy doors open, John allowed his sons to go ahead of him and followed them down the marble steps and onto the street.

"Can we go to Ollivander's now?" Dean asked, raising his voice to be heard about the sound of talking and laughing of the witches and wizards surrounding them.

John nodded and nearly walked on his sons' heels as he struggled to keep up with them in the crowded streets.

The wand shop looked ancient and derelict. It's windows were so thickly coated in dust that no one could see through them, the sign above the door which simply read Ollivander's looked as though it had been painted over and over for years, whenever the previous coat became dull and flaky.

Dean stepped into the shop first, dragging his younger brother along after him.

The first thing Sam noticed about the shop was that it was dark, very quiet and full of dust. The seven-year old put the sleeve of his coat up to his nose to keep from sneezing. The store was filled with rows upon rows of shelves of wands, the aisles between them so narrow that one had to turn to the side to make his or her way through.

Curious, the seven-year old reached out for a wand box, before his father spoke his name, warning him not to touch.

SPN

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered around the shop as Dean approached a high, wooden desk at the back of the room.

"Hello?" Dean asked, "Is anyone there?"

An elderly wizard with frizzy white hair appeared from behind the desk, almost as though he were a ghost, and peered down at the eleven-year old.

"Dean Winchester," the man said in a slightly raspy tone.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, feeling nervous. He relaxed a bit when he felt his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"Here to get your first wand, eh?" Mr. Ollivander asked and Dean nodded in agreement, "Yes sir."

"Hmmm," the wizard put one grimy forefinger against his bottom lip as he thought, "This is your father, it is not?"

"John Winchester," the boy's father answered.

Ollivander didn't look surprised, "Son of Henry Winchester, am I right?"

"That's right," John told him.

"And your late wife is Mary, from the Campbell clan," the wizard continued, this time not asking a question but speaking matter-of-factly.

John nodded.

"Well, let's see what we can get your son," Ollivander clapped both hands together and turned around, squinting at the collection of wands behind his desk.

After a moment he turned around with a velvet-covered box in one hand. With his free hand he opened the box and pulled out a thin, tan-coloured wand.

"Beech wood, ten inches, flexible, core of unicorn hair," Ollivander said as he handed the wand to Dean.

The boy stared at the wand for a moment before he raised it up and brought it down in an overdramatic motion. The papers on Mr. Ollivander's desk burst into flames.

"Not that one, I think," the wizard quickly put out the fire with his own wand before reaching down and taking the beech wood wand from Dean.

"Let's try another one, shall we?"

SPN

Sam was only partially aware of the dialogue going on between his brother and Mr. Ollivander.

Instead, he walked carefully among the shelves, remembering not to touch anything as he waited for his brother to be finished picking his wand.

Slowly Sam made his way to the front of the store. Glancing over his shoulder he saw his father and brother still standing in front of Mr. Ollivander's desk.

Sighing, the seven-year old used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the grime from a pane of glass in the window and he peered outside.

W

Neither Dean nor John noticed that Sam was no longer at their side. The seven-year old walked slowly towards the front door, his gait stiff and his entire body shaking. Sam pushed the door open and stepped out into the street.

The boy paused for only a second or two, not even turning his head to see which direction he wished to go. He stepped out into the crowd of witches and wizards, walking past them as though they didn't exist. The people surrounding the seven-year old took no notice of him. No one noticed the lone child walking purposefully down the street, never stopping to go into a shop, his hazel eyes wide, pupils blown so wide they appeared to turn the iris black; his face pale as chalk and drawn; his mouth forming a straight line of indifference.

W

Sam was terrified.

He didn't know where he was but it certainly wasn't Diagon Alley… or at least not anymore.

The tall, looming buildings stood broken and burned underneath a sky thick with stranger green clouds. Chunks of stone and mortar lay in piles of rubble at the base of the shops; windows had been smashed, the glass shining among the debris. Black, greasy streaks of soot darkened the stones around the shattered windows, telling of flames that had ravaged the ancient stonework.

The cobblestone streets were slick with blood, flies and carrion crows delighting in the gore. A constant droning buzzing, punctuated by the harsh cackle of the large black birds were the only sounds to be heard.

The denizens of this charred, wounded world glided past Sam as silently as shadows. Draped in cloaks of tattered, cloth that may have once been robes, the figures stared at the child through eyeless sockets in skeletal faces devoid of skin.

The seven-year old cringed away from the grotesque creatures, tears of fear welling up in his eyes but he remained as silent as the phantoms themselves, terrified that any noise he made would draw their attention.

The boy's gaze darted around the ruined street, desperately seeking a familiar face or welcoming shelter.

SPN

"Try this one," Mr. Ollivander offered Dean another wand, "Applewood, dragon heartstring, eleven inches, inflexible."

SPN

Sam moved further and further away from his father and brother, his disorientation and fear growing.

The boy froze where he stood, staring ahead of himself. There, in the middle of the blood-soaked was another human, a wizard, by the look of him. Clad in a deep blue robe it was nearly black, the wizard smiled at Sam and held out a hand towards him. Despite being warned about going with strangers, the man was the only friendly face the seven-year old had seen in this disturbing world. What made Sam hesitate however was that, despite the man's encouraging smile, his yellow eyes held no warmth in them.

The boy stood where he was, uncertain of what to do.

The strange man took a step forward, towards Sam and suddenly the boy's eyes widened with fear and he was running away, trying to get as far away from the man as he could.

Sam closed his eyes to try and get the vision out of his mind; the man's open hand had been filled with blood. The boy sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, narrowly colliding with the eerie skeletal creatures that lived in this world more than once. Lungs burning, Sam ran blindly down the street, wishing only for this nightmare to end.

SPN

"Hmm," Ollivander hummed, "Difficult one, aren't you? Well, never fear, I have a wand for you."

The wizard bent down behind his desk and rummaged around for a moment, pushing boxes of wands away as he sought a particular one.

"Ah!" he announced and straightened, holding a box covered in leather.

"This is your wand," Mr. Ollivander told Dean matter-of-factly, "It is made from rowan- one of the most reliable wandwoods, you know- with a core of dragon heartstring, twelve inches long, sturdy and able to stand some wear and tear."

Dean took the offered wand and instantly felt warmth beneath his fingers, something he hadn't experienced when handling the other wands. Curiously, Dean waved the wand in the air and was surprised and pleased when fat, multi-coloured bubbles emerged from the tip, floating happily in the air for a moment before bursting with a shower of silver sparkles.

"Cool," Dean smiled at his Dad.

John smiled back and paid Mr. Ollivander, who looked quite satisfied with himself.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean turned around, eager to show off his new wand to his little brother, "Look at this…"

The boy's words died even as he said them. Peering around the shop, it was clear his brother was not inside.

"Sammy?" Dean called, moving towards the door.

"Sam?" his father called, frowning.

Peering back at the shop owner, John asked the wizard if he'd seen Sam leave. Mr. Ollivander shook his head, "I am sure your son is fine. Diagon is almost as safe as Hogwarts itself."

The wizard's words did nothing to comfort the father and he hurried outside, searching the crowd of shoppers frantically for sight of his youngest son.

"SAM!"

SPN

Sam had no clue where he was. He stared around at the unfamiliar faces of the witches and wizards around him. Panicking, he didn't stop running even as the expressions of shoppers he collided with turned from irritated to concerned.

He had to find his Dad and brother.

Wheezing, the boy was unable to call out for his family members. Now scared that he was lost in Diagon Alley, the child's tears finally came, streaming down his face and blurring his vision.

SPN

"SAM!" John shouted, trying not to panic.

"Sammy!" Dean called just as frantically.

"Where could he have gone?" John muttered to himself out loud.

Dean, thinking, peered up at his father, "Maybe he went into one of the shops."

The eldest Winchester nodded; although Sam was now seven-years old, he did like to wander and it was likely he had seen something in a shop window that had grabbed his attention, going to investigate without thinking of telling them.

John took a deep breath, "Okay, we'll look in the stores around here, he can't have gone far. You stay with me. I don't need to lose you too."

Dean nodded and followed his father into what appeared to be a junk shop selling broken wands, lopsided scales and cracked cauldrons, directly across the street from Ollivander's.

SPN

Sam hurried down the street, unable to see where he was going and ran headlong into a wizard stepping out of the Apothecary.

Startled, Sam fell, landing heavily on his backside and stared up at the person he had just collided with, his heart skipping a beat with fear, believing one of the creatures had followed him out of his nightmare.

The boy's fear waned as he realized that the figure towering over him was not one of the eyeless monsters but a wizard, clad in black robes, with dark, cold eyes, a sallow face and long black hair.

Sam stood slowly, wincing in pain, and tried to apologize.

"I'm… I'm… s-s-" he stammered, trying to catch his breath.

The wizard peered down his long, hooked nose at him.

"What, boy? Spit it out!" the man demanded and Sam felt his eyes well with tears again.

"I… I want my Daddy!" Sam cried, confused and terrified.

The wizard bent down closer to the seven-year old.

"Stop crying!" the man snapped and Sam hiccupped, shocked into cessation.

"You're Winchester's boy," the man said and Sam nodded.

"Where is he?" the man asked, dark eyes boring into Sam's tear and snot-streaked face. Sam began to calm down somewhat. If this wizard knew his Dad, than he must be a friend.

"I don't… I don't know…" the boy stammered, "I was scared and… I ran…"

The wizard bent down so that he was almost eye-level with the child, "Why were you running?"

"I… I saw monsters," the boy whispered, his hazel eyes fearful, unable to explain what he had witnessed any other way.

"There are no monsters here, boy," the man replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"But I saw them," Sam insisted, "They were tall and had no eyes."

The child lifted his hands and pulled down on his lower eyelids, "And they had no skin."

The man frowned deeply, "Is that all?"

Sam shook his head, "There was a man, a scary man. He was smiling but his hand was cut up, there was blood on it."

The wizard straightened up and looked around, "Your father will be missing you."

"But I don't know where he is," Sam muttered sadly.

"Do you know where you were before you saw these monsters?" the man asked and Sam nodded, telling him he had been in the wand shop.

"Do you know where that is?" the seven-year old asked and the man gave a smirk.

"Yes," he told the boy, "Come with me and I'll find your father for you."

Sam didn't need to be told twice, he quickly followed behind the wizard. He automatically reached out for the man's hand- remembering he was supposed to do so in such a crowded place- but stopped when the adult moved it out of way.

The boy trotted along behind the wizard, following obediently; glad he had run into him. The man knew his Daddy and Sam was sure he'd be able to find him and Dean.

They were halfway to where Ollivander's wand shop was when the wizard stopped in the middle of the street. Sam nearly bumped into him for a second time and peered up at the man curiously.

"Why did we stop?" he asked the wizard but he didn't appear to be listening. Instead, he was scanning the crowd, his height giving him an advantage over the child.

Sam sniffed and wiped his nose across the sleeve of his jacket, inching closer to him.

"SAM!" A voice called out over the sounds of the crowd and the boy looked up quickly.

"DAD!" he cried out, "DEAN!"

"SAM!" the voice called again, closer this time and relief washed over the child.

"DAD!" Sam answered "DEAN!"

The boy smiled when he spotted his father making his way towards his from just down the street, his brother right behind him.

Sam was suddenly scooped up in his father's arms, hugged fiercely, John's bearded face pressed tightly against his cheek.

Pulling back, Sam's father peered at him, "Where were you? Why did you leave the shop? Dean and I were worried."

Sam, recalling his terrifying vision, blanched, "There were monsters, Daddy, they were everywhere!"

John frowned and hugged Sam once again. Then, spotting the wizard set his son down. Dean grabbed Sam and embraced him just as tightly as their father had.

"Professor," John said, "Thank you for staying with Sam."

The teacher gave the elder Winchester a haughty look; "You'd do well to keep an eye on your children."

The father didn't reply to the remark and instead gave a small smile, "I'm just glad you found him."

The wizard returned the expression, coldly, and turned on his heel, melting through the crowd without another word.

Sam watched the man walk away, fascinated and fearful at the same time, his hand gripping Dean's as tightly as possible.

"Who was that Dad?" Dean asked.

Although John worked at Hogwarts, the boys only knew a handful of teachers there and they had never seen that professor before.

"Professor Snape," John said, "He's the Head of Slytherin House."

"Can we get the rest of my things?" Dean asked and the boys' father nodded, "Yeah, let's go do that."

SPN

The remainder of their visit to Diagon Alley was uneventful. Sam remained so close to his father and brother he may as been glued to them as they went from store to store, purchasing quills, ink and parchment, school robes, a set of scales and a cauldron, telescope, crystal phials, and textbooks.

After stopping for a treat at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the small family moved to a quiet area- right outside a stall selling charms to ward off the 'evil eye'- and John pulled out the Portkey.

All three Winchesters laid a finger against the chewed up bit of gum and once again experienced the tugging sensation behind the bellybutton and the world sliding away beneath their feet before landing in the snow on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Returning the Portkey to his pocket, John led the way out past the entry gates and down the road towards Hogsmeade Village.

"Can we play outside when we get home?" Dean asked carrying a bag full of textbooks and equipment for Potions class.

"I don't see why not," John replied, his tone distracted.

Dean and Sam grinned, picking up their pace, the older sibling chasing the younger, eliciting a series of happy shrieks and giggles from the smaller child.

John smiled but his thoughts were on other things. Sam may have forgotten about telling his father he had seen monsters but John couldn't forget.

SPN

Later that evening, when the sky was dark and the cold had started to seep into the cottage, Sam lay on his belly in front of the stove, chin propped up on the heels of his hands, dreaming about the day when he would get his letter to go to Hogwarts, his disturbing visions earlier in the day shoved far to the back of his mind.


	2. The Troublesome Trio

Dean stared at the frayed, patched wizard's hat slumping slightly on the stool in front of the assembled boys and girls waiting to be told which Houses they would join. The hat did not look at all fantastic or magical and Dean wouldn't have believed it was special at all if he had not seen an inch-long tear in the old fabric open up like a mouth and issue forth a distinctly male voice, which sang a melodious tune:

"Come to Hogwarts have you?

To learn from and be taught by the best

In the grandest school of magic

The pride and joy

Of four friends centuries ago

Who dreamt of a sanctuary

For young witches and wizards

To become the best they could be

Do you belong in Hufflepuff?

The fairest of the Founders

Kind of heart and true and patient,

Then Hufflepuff welcomes you.

Do you have a keen mind and thirst for knowledge?

Well, Ravenclaw is the House for you.

Are you called to adventure, daring and brave?

Gryffindor then, is the House you crave.

Slytherin, of course, only takes those who are born leaders,

Cunning and intelligent folk

Will find their real friends with this House.

Now don't you worry and don't be dismayed,

I may be old and frayed,

Trust me, for I'll find the House that's

Just right for you."

As soon as the Sorting Hat had finished its song, the young witches and wizards who had already been placed into their houses- second to seventh years- cheered, clapped and stamped their feet on the floorboards of the Great Hall.

The din quieted however, when the Headmaster, raised one hand to signal silence.

Dean, nervous and excited, kept his gaze on the elderly wizard, wearing a handsome robe of violet, even as Professor McGonagall approached the Sorting Hat, a parchment scroll held in her hands.

"I will call your names alphabetically," she told the assembled first-years, "You will sit on the stool and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head. You will be Sorted into your Houses and will join your peers at the appropriate table."

Unrolling the scroll with one hand, the witch cleared her throat and announced that Adams, Clementine would be the first to be Sorted.

Dean watched as a short, chubby-cheeked girl with ringlet curls of blonde hair and blue eyes stepped walked up to the Sorting Hat. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and the girl took a seat on the stool. Once she was seated, the teacher placed the Hat on Clementine's head and within seconds she was announced as the newest Hufflepuff.

Dean knew it would be a while before it was his turn to be Sorted so he simply watched with interest as his fellow first years were called forward before joining their Houses.

Nathan Ayers became the second Hufflepuff; Lacey Bernstein became a Ravenclaw, Hieronymus Crimble was the first Slytherin, Doreen Dawkins joined Gryffindor House, and on and on. After a while all the names just started to become a droning sound, as Dean grew bored; he could only listen to his fellow student's names being announced as though in roll call before his attention waned.

"Weasley, Fred," Professor McGonagall called out and Dean's attention was snapped back to the Sorting; it would be his turn soon.

He watched as a boy with a long, thin nose, freckles and red hair approached the stool and took a seat. The witch placed the Sorting Hat on his head and within seconds had come to its decision, shouting out "Gryffindor!" and the boy practically bounced to the appropriate table, taking a seat beside an older boy with eerily similar features. The older boy looked a bit put out, even as his sibling put an arm around his shoulders.

"Weasley, George," the witch called and Dean watched as a second boy, identical to the first one, made his way up to be Sorted. The Hat's reaction was the same, screaming "Gryffindor" at the top of its non-existent lungs.

George Weasley joined his brothers at the table, sitting on the opposite side of his older sibling, a smug expression on his face as the elder boy rolled his eyes and looked very embarrassed.

"Winchester, Dean."

This was it. His turn to be Sorted.

Dean stepped up to the stool and took a seat, biting his lip nervously. Scanning the crowd of students in front of him, he relaxed as he saw his father standing at the back of the room.

Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on Dean's head and suddenly a small voice spoke in his ear:

"You are very courageous," the Sorting Hat whispered in a voice only Dean could hear, "But also daring, a risk-taker. I can see you're always willing for adventure."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to speak but thinking that the Sorting Hat was right.

"Of course, I'm right, boy," the Hat chided gently, "I'm never wrong. I've never sent a young witch or wizard to the wrong House."

"For you… hmmm," the Hat muttered, "I think it's obvious you belong in…"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

As soon as Professor McGonagall took the Hat from Dean's head, he was off the stool and heading to the Gryffindor table. Sitting down beside George Weasely, he couldn't help but grin, feeling immensely happy.

Suddenly remembering that his father had been watching, Dean turned in his seat to look for him but John was nowhere to be found. Frowning, the boy turned back to face the front where the last of the first years were being Sorted.

As soon as Malcolm Zane joined the Ravenclaw table, Albus Dumbledore stood and began speaking; welcoming both new and returning students, and inviting everyone to sing the Hogwarts school song.

Although Dean didn't know all the words, he'd heard his father singing bits and pieces of the song over the years, he did his best to join in and felt he managed pretty well, all things considered.

"Now that we've exercised our vocal cords," Dumbledore announced, "Let's exercise our stomachs and tuck in!"

The golden dishes that had sat empty on the tables moments before were suddenly filled with food and drink of all kinds as though the Headmaster had simply willed the meal into existence with his words.

Dean's eyes widened at the sight of the heaps of food sitting in front of him, unsure what he wanted to try first. There were tureens of sauces, gravies, soups; jugs of pumpkin juice, milk, water; pots of tea, coffee and cocoa. Platters filled with slices of roast chicken, turkey, beef, ham and vegetables. Carrots glazed with maple syrup, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, mashed and baked potatoes, turnip and stuffing.

It was like Christmas and Thanksgiving all rolled into one huge meal.

Dean grabbed a ladle and began scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate when someone sat down at his side. Pausing, he looked over and saw that it was Fred Weasley, no longer sitting beside his older brother. The Winchester boy now sat in between the twins.

"You look like your eyes are gonna fall out of your head," Fred commented as he reached over and placed a few slices of ham onto his plate.

Dean felt himself grow red, "It's a lot of food."

"We usually call this Sunday Dinner," George sniggered.

The redhead nodded, "Come from a small family?"

Dean, now able to move again without humiliation, grabbed a tureen of gravy and almost drowned his potatoes in it.

"Yeah, just three of us," he said.

"Thought so," George said, "Us, you see, come from a family of nine."

"Nine?" Dean gaped, and the twins laughed.

"Well, there's us," Fred told him, "And then there's Percy over there."

Fred jerked his thumb over at his brother. Percy was in deep conversation with another Gryffindor and unaware that he was piling his plate high with braised cucumbers.

"Then our younger brother, Ron," George continued, "And our little sister, Ginny."

"Bill and Charlie are all grown up and moved out," Fred took over, "Then of course, Mum and Dad."

"Most wizarding families are big, though," George commented, buttering a slice of bread.

"Oh," Dean muttered, deciding he wanted some roast turkey.

"Are you muggle-born?" Fred asked curiously.

Dean shook his head, "My mother was a witch and my Dad…"

He paused and frowned, "My grandfather was a wizard but my Dad can't do magic."

The two redheaded boys had a knowing look in their eyes, almost one of pity, "A Squib, then."

Dean nodded. He never really liked thinking of John like that; his father certainly never talked about it and didn't particularly like the word 'squib'. To Dean, it sounded offensive, like calling someone a mudblood.

"That's all right," George assured him, "I'm sure we have a Squib somewhere in the family- distant aunt or cousin or something."

Fred nodded, "How did you fancy the train ride, then?"

Dean shook his head, "Didn't come here on the train. We just live in Hogsmeade Village."

Now it was the twins' turn to look a bit taken aback.

"Don't Squibs live in the muggle world?" Fred asked.

Dean nodded, "Some do, I guess. But we live here. Professor Dumbledore invited my Dad to stay and um…"

Both Fred and George were looking at Dean with great curiosity now.

"Go on, mate," George encouraged, "We're great at keeping secrets."

"Unless they're embarrassing," Fred added, smirking and popped a baked baby potato into his mouth.

Dean glanced from one boy to the other and felt certain they were trustworthy, why else would they have been placed in Gryffindor?

"You'd have found out eventually," he told them, "Don't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

"We won't," George insisted.

"My Dad's the caretaker," Dean told them.

Both boys blinked.

"That's it?" Fred asked, "That's your big secret?"

Dean shrugged, starting to smile. Now that he'd said it out loud, it didn't seem to be such a big deal.

"There's nothing wrong with that," George informed him, "Our Dad works for the Ministry- Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office- and a lot of other wizards look down on that position though he loves it."

"Obsessed with muggles," his brother added, "Can't get enough of them."

"He'd probably love to talk to your Dad," George told Dean.

"Fred! George!" a haughty voice rang out, "You're not badgering that poor boy, are you?"

The twins raised their hands to their mouths and giggled.

Percy Weasley, tall, with dark red, wavy hair and the same long nose as his siblings, was standing right behind Dean. The younger boy twisted in his seat to face the older Weasley sibling.

"Percy Weasley," the boy introduced himself and held out a hand, "I hope Fred and George aren't bothering you. They can get quite annoying and pushy if not checked."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw the twins roll their eyes and forced himself not to smirk.

"I'm fine, thanks for your concern," Dean told the older boy.

"I didn't get your name," Percy commented, hand still outstretched.

Deciding that the least he could do was shake the boy's hand, the younger Gryffindor did so, "Dean Winchester."

Percy nodded but said nothing else and was soon sitting back down, once again engaged in conversation with the same boy he'd been speaking with previously, still unaware of the amount of cucumbers on his plate.

"Is he always like that?" Dean asked the twins.

"Usually he's worse," Fred told him.

"Percy's always trying to ensure the Weasley name stays untarnished," George commented in a falsely sniveling voice.

His brother snorted laughter, "It's too late for that."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"We're purebloods," Fred told Dean, "And as purebloods, some wizards think we shouldn't be talking to people like… well, people like you or muggle-borns."

"Some wizards think that they should be second-class just because they can't trace their family tree all the way back to Merlin or some nonsense like that,' George added.

"You haven't met any purebloods? Not in Hogsmeade?" Fred asked.

Dean shrugged, "Sure, but everyone's friendly. No one cares if your great-great-great uncle was magical or not. A lot of people really like Dad too, even though he can't do magic, they just kind of accept it and get over it."

The twins looked impressed, "Not everyone's like that."

"Just look at that lot over there," George jabbed a thumb over at the Slytherin table, "Lot of Pureblood families there, lot of muggle haters."

Dean frowned. He wasn't stupid, he knew there were witches and wizards out there who didn't think that muggles or muggle-born witches and wizards were equal to them and shouldn't be given equal opportunities. It just stunned him to think that there were people, even in this amazing world, who could be so backward thinking.

"You said your Mum was a witch," Fred said, changing the subject.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, what about her?"

"What was her family name?"

"Campbell," the boy answered.

Fred and George looked surprised.

"What?" he asked.

"They're all Purebloods," George told him, "Really believe in not marrying anyone who isn't and all that. Won't have anything to do with muggles-"

"My Mom wasn't like that!" Dean snapped.

The twins looked shocked at the outburst.

"We're not saying she was," Fred said gently, "We're just saying we're a bit in awe that your Mum and your Dad got together."

"Oh," Dean muttered, slightly embarrassed.

The conversation ended and all three boys ate their dinner in silence.

Once the leftovers from the main course had vanished and dessert had appeared, did the boys begin to talk to one another again.

"I don't remember much about her," Dean muttered as he shoveled spoonfuls of sticky toffee pudding into his mouth, "But I do remember she loved to sing, and she was always smiling and she made the best pie."

Fred and George smiled.

"Dad said that her parents weren't happy at all that they liked each other," Dean continued, "But Mom didn't care. She loved Dad and wasn't going to let her parents stop her."

"How… how old were you when she died?" George asked quietly.

"Four," Dean told him, "My little brother wasn't even a year old."

The twins' eyes were large and wide. They had never had anyone close to them pass away.

"Were you here?"

Dean shook his head, "We lived in the United States, in Kansas."

"Cool," the twins commented and Dean smiled. He guessed it was cool, not that he recalled much of the four years he'd lived in America.

After a few minutes of indulging in the sweets in front of them in silence, the boys changed the topic of conversation from family to something Dean loved almost fanatically- Quidditch. The eleven-year olds discussed their favourite models of brooms; which they preferred for their speed, or agility or endurance, and than playfully argued over who were the best team in Britain.

"The Falcons are better than anyone else," Dean insisted, helping himself to his second serving of pudding, "Even the Kestrels."

"You're wrong, mate," Fred shook his head, "They're just a bunch of brutes. They're always getting in trouble for beating up the other teams."

Dean shrugged, "Isn't that part of the game? Like hockey; you can't have a game of hockey without someone losing his teeth."

The Weasley twins looked confused; clearly having no clue what hockey was.

Dean shrugged and shoved a spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

W

As soon as the dessert crumbs had vanished from the table, the first years were rounded up by a couple of Prefects from each House and guided to their respective common rooms.

Dean and the twins followed near the back of the group, continuing to talk and generally not paying attention as the two Gryffindor Prefects, a boy named Thelonious Blackmore and a girl named Rebecca Patterson, led the new students towards their dormitories and told them about the moving staircases, portraits and suits of armor.

"I'll bet you know all about Hogwarts already," George muttered to Dean, "Your Dad being the caretaker and all."

"I know a bit," Dean admitted, "Not as much as him, though."

Fred and George nodded but said nothing else to him. Instead, they put their heads together and whispered to one another, clearly planning something.

It didn't take long to reach the common room, the Prefects kept the group walking at a quick pace, and before long the first years were crowded onto the landing and down the staircase in front of a large portrait of a fat witch dressed in a ruffled pink ball gown.

"Password?" she asked Rebecca Patterson.

The Prefect replied in a clear, loud tone, "Squadgymodkins."

The fat lady nodded and her picture frame moved inwards, revealing a hidden doorway.

"C'mon you lot," Thelonious Blackmore called out and the first years crowded into the common room.

Dean stared around the space, a large, circular room furnished with tables, lumpy armchairs and carpets covering the stone floors. A wide fireplace emitted an orange glow that warmed the entire room. The room was accented with tapestries and a picture of a lion hung above the mantel. There were also shelves stuffed with novels all around the room.

"First years," Prefect Rebecca called out, "Your dormitories are through these two doorways and up a short flight of stairs. Girls are on the right, boys on the left."

"Hey, Dean," George's voice in the boy's ear made him jump slightly, "I don't know about you but we're not ready for bed just yet."

Dean turned to look at his new friends.

"What do you want to do?"

The twins smiled, "Want to go explore?"

Rather impulsive, Dean nodded and followed the Weasleys silently as they slipped through the doorway and out onto the landing.

"Aren't you three supposed to be inside?" the fat lady asked in an indignant tone from her portrait but the three boys ignored her, instead hurrying down the staircase on the off chance someone might have followed them out and find they were leaving.

"Where do you want to go?" Dean asked the twins but Fred shrugged.

"Don't know," he commented, blue eyes gazing around the corridors and staircases.

"We'll know once we get there," George added.

Dean smiled. He loved going on adventures with his brother- always in Hogsmeade- and to have the opportunity to explore Hogwarts without adult supervision appealed to him greatly.

The three walked down the staircase, looking at the portraits hanging on the walls, and generally not paying attention to what was going on around them.

"Duck!" Dean cried suddenly and all three boys crouched down on the stairs as a middle-aged witch with long black hair drawn up in a severe bun, square-rimmed glasses and a stern expression passed beneath them on the floor just under theirs. It was Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House and the witch who had assisted in the Sorting.

Once she was out of sight, the boys sighed and stood.

"Good catch," Fred told Dean, "Would not have ended well if she'd seen us."

Dean nodded, "Let's keep going."

Carefully the boys walked down the staircase, their footfalls silent on the stone steps warn smooth by centuries of students walking up and down.

"This way," Dean instructed the twins impulsively and the Weasley brothers followed him onto the main floor of the school, ducking into a dark, narrow corridor that looked little used.

SPN

John Winchester eased the front door to his cottage open and saw Temple Gibbons sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.

"Is Sam asleep?" the father asked and the elderly witch nodded.

"Finally settled in a half-hour ago," Ms. Gibbons told him, "Couldn't keep his eyes open."

John smiled and shrugged his jacket off, stepping out of his shoes.

"I'll be down in a minute," he told the witch and headed up the rickety staircase. Walking as quietly as possible, John moved down the hallway and pushed the door to his youngest son's bedroom open.

Sam was curled on his side beneath his flannel blankets; teddy bear tucked under one arm. John sighed and stepped into the room, brushing his son's long fringe away from his brow and kissed the boy's forehead.

"D'n?" Sam muttered and rolled over onto his back.

"It's me," John whispered.

"Dad?"

"Go back to sleep, Sam," the father instructed gently.

"What House?" the seven-year old muttered.

"Gryffindor," John informed him and saw his younger son smile.

"Goodnight, Sam," John said softly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Heading back down to the main floor, John put a piece of firewood into the stove, filled the kettle with water and set it on a burner to heat up.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked Temple but the witch shook her head.

"How was Sam?" John asked, sitting down across from the witch as he waited for the water to boil.

"The tot just wants to be like his brother," Ms. Gibbons told him, "He looks up to Dean."

John nodded, "I know."

"How did Dean do? What House did he make?" Temple asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"He got into Gryffindor," John told her, smiling wanly.

"I'm not surprised," the witch told him, "My younger brother, Boniface, was just like him at eleven and he made Gryffindor too."

John nodded but said nothing.

"John," Temple said and reached out one thin, wrinkled hand to touch his, "What's wrong?"

The father sighed, "I wish Mary was here to see our sons."

The witch pursed her lips in sympathy but said nothing; she patted John's hand instead.

The father closed his eyes for a moment, a vision of his late wife coming to him as clearly as though she was standing in front of him; her long hair loose over her shoulders in blonde waves, blue eyes sparkling, full mouth smiling gently.

The sound of movement made John open his eyes; Temple was taking the kettle off the burner, white steam pouring from its spout.

Standing, John intercepted the witch, "I've got it."

Ms. Gibbons nodded and sat back down at the table as John prepared his mug of coffee.

After a few moments, the father returned to his seat.

"I… We really appreciate all your help, Temple," John said, "Really. Sam's still a bit too young to be left on his own just yet."

Ms. Gibbons flapped a hand dismissively, "Think nothing of it, John; you know how I feel about the boys."

The father nodded; Temple treated Sam and Dean as though they were her own grandsons. She was just as pleased and proud to find out Dean had been accepted to Hogwarts as any grandmother would.

John took a sip of his coffee and his thoughts turned to his youngest son.

SPN

Dean, Fred and George blinked against the floating dust and stared with interest around the room.

"It must be an old classroom," George suggested, allowing the door to close behind them with a rusty groan.

As soon as the door was shut, sconces along the stone walls roared to life with enchanted fires, illuminating the room.

"Cool," Dean said and stepped forward, his shoes leaving smudges on the dust-coated floor.

The room indeed may have been a classroom many years ago, ancient wooden desks and shelves of moldering books that had stood long forgotten now seemed alive with mystery. There were no windows in the room as it was in the dungeons but unlike the rest of the lower floor of the school, this room was not damp or dank, only dry with dust and slightly warm.

"Guess your Dad hasn't been here to clean yet," Fred sniggered and Dean scowled.

Stepping up to one of the shelves, he pulled out a thick tone, scattering a cloud of dust as he did so.

Waving one hand and coughing slightly, Dean peered at the title of the book:

'The Magical Earth by Peat Igneous and Gemma Abyssal'

Sitting the book on top of the shelf, Dean pulled out another text.

'Witchcraft, Music and Espionage: The Life and Times of Dulcinea Hyde by Lizbeth Zevon'

Sam would love these things; Dean thought and brushed the dirt from the cover of the books, smiling.

"Hey, look at this!" Fred exclaimed suddenly, lifting the top of one desk to reveal a space where school supplies could be stored, and pulled out an ancient phial filled with thick brown liquid.

"What's that?" Dean asked, tucking both books into the crook of his arm so he wouldn't forget them.

"Dunno," Fred muttered, bringing the crystal phial close to his eyes.

"George," he smiled, lowering the phial of strange liquid, "I'll give you a whole Galleon if you drink this."

The second Weasley twin glanced over at his brother from where he was drawing inappropriate words and pictures on an old chalkboard.

"I won't do it for less than five," he informed his sibling.

Fred peered at the liquid for a second time and then shrugged, "You're probably, right."

The boy tucked the phial into the pocket of his robes though, for later examination.

Dean turned his attention back to the bookshelf and pulled out a third book with one hand, this one heavier than the first two, and lost his grip, the tome falling to the floor with a loud thunk sound.

"Oops," the boy smirked and bent down to pick the book back up; it had fallen on its spine and a large piece of folded parchment was sticking out of it. Curious, Dean lifted the parchment from the book and stared at it, it was blank.

"What's this?" he asked, holding the sheet of parchment paper up for his friends to see.

For a moment, Fred and George didn't react but within seconds they had run over and grabbed the paper from Dean's hand.

"Could this be-"

"There's no way it-"

"Been missing for years-"

"Just a rumor-"

"WHAT?" Dean exclaimed over the brothers' voices.

Fred and George looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Have you ever heard of the Marauders' Map?" George asked.

"No," Dean replied, "What is it?"

"Supposedly, years ago, there was this group of students who made this map of Hogwarts," Fred told him, "Where they could see where everyone in the school was, all the time-"

"It was so detailed that it had secret passages no one knew about and forgotten classrooms, like this one, on it," George added.

"But it went missing when the Marauders left the school," Fred continued, "And no one knew where it was."

"Our brother Charlie told us about it," George told Dean, "He and his friends tried to find the map but they couldn't."

Dean peered down at the dusty, smudge piece of parchment, "And you think that is the Marauders' Map?"

The Weasley twins nodded, "There's only one way to find out."

Fred pulled out his wand and pointed it at the parchment, "Charlie told us you have to say this exactly right or else it won't work."

Dean and George waited with bated breath a Fred cleared his throat and spoke a single sentence: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

For a brief moment nothing happened and all three boys wilted with disappointment.

"Maybe-" George began when suddenly, as though an invisible hand was writing on the parchment; words began to appear across the front in fancy script.

Once again holding their breath, the boys peered at the writing, their hearts beating faster as they realized what the words meant:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

Are proud to present

THE MARAUDERS' MAP

Dean, George and Fred lifted their heads and stared at one another, shocked at what they had just read.

"I don't believe it!" Fred lifted the map and held it up "We found it! We found the Marauders' Map!"

"You mean Dean found it, Fred," George corrected, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

Fred lowered the map and stared at Dean, grinning, "Yes you did, you found it!"

Dean, who still hadn't fully realized what that meant, reached out for the paper, "Let's look at it."

Fred nodded and brought the map to the desk he had been searching through and unfolded the paper, revealing an intricately detailed blueprint of Hogwarts castle and grounds, with the classrooms, students and teachers all labeled.

"Wow," Dean whispered, "This is so cool."

"This is more than cool, mate," Fred commented, "This is spectacular."

"Hey, look," Dean muttered, pointing to the map, "Dumbledore's in his office talking with Professors McGonagall and Snape."

"That's probably why she was in such a hurry," George said, "She was off to see the Headmaster."

"I wonder what they're talking about," Dean mused, leaning over the map.

"Who cares?" Fred sneered, "Has Percy figured out we're gone yet?"

Locating Gryffindor Tower on the map, all three boys searched for the older Weasley brother's name.

"He's in the dormitory," Dean pointed out, seeing Percy's name in the boys' dorm room.

"Good," George commented, "He won't snitch on us when we get back."

Reminded about time, Dean checked his watch.

"It's getting late," he told the twins reluctantly, "We should head back before McGonagall leaves Dumbledore's office."

Fred and George looked at one another, "You're right, don't want to start the school year off on the wrong foot."

Dean peered down at the Marauders' Map, "Did your brother Charlie mention anything to help keep this thing secret?"

George nodded, "He said this should work."

The boy pulled his wand you, tapped the map and said, "Mischief managed."

Instantly the parchment was wiped clean as though someone had erased the ink.

Folding up the parchment, George hesitated for a moment before handing the map to Dean.

"You found it, you should have it," he said with a smile.

"Thanks," Dean took the map from him and stuffed it into a pocket of his robes.

The boys hurried to the door of the classroom, opened it, and peered cautiously out into the corridor.

"C'mon," Dean motioned to the twins and they followed him out into the hallway.

Silence pressed in on the boys, the corridors deserted, all good students fast asleep in their beds, professors preparing for classes the next day in their offices.

Walking as quietly and quickly as possible, the trio made their way upstairs, hearts pounding with excitement at the thought of their newfound treasure.

Dean couldn't help but grin as he climbed the staircase up to Gryffindor Tower and paused at the landing for his friends, the Fat Lady peering down at him suspiciously from her portrait.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, young man?" she asked.

Dean ignored her and instead told her the password.

"Hmph," she sniffed and the portrait opened to reveal the short passage that led into the Gryffindor common room.

Stepping into the warm, friendly atmosphere of the common room, the boys relaxed.

"What a night," Fred whispered; even though they were alone he didn't want to wake anyone sleeping upstairs.

"Can't wait to put that map to good use," George added, winking.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I can't wait to explore those secret passages."

The twins nodded and the three boys made their way up to the dormitory, finding their beds and walking softly to avoid waking the others.

Dean paused at the end of his bed and opened his trunk, putting the Marauders' Map in the bottom of the piece of luggage, piling clothing on top so no one would find it. Finally, placing the two books he'd taken from the abandoned classroom on top of his belongings in the trunk, Dean climbed into bed and closed his eyes, smiling as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this series, I have decided to off-canon a little bit for a few of the characters from Harry Potter. I have made Fred and George Weasley the same age as Dean. Percy is one year old than Fred, George and Dean in this fanfiction. When Sam, Ron, Hermione and Harry start at Hogwarts; Fred, George and Dean are all four years older than them, in their fifth year (15 year old) and Percy is five years older than Sam, Harry, Ron and Hermione, in his sixth year (16 years old).  
> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment :)


	3. Lessons

Sam woke with an uneasy feeling. Something wasn't right… but what was it?

Rolling his eyes to take in his bedroom, nothing looked out of place; every item was just as it had been before he had gone to bed the night before.

Frowning slightly, the boy looked up at the ceiling, considering the sunshine illuminating motes of dust floating around his room, before he recalled that today was the first of September; Dean's first day of school at Hogwarts.

Sam, who had been at his brother's side for seven years and four months, was now on his own.

The boy squirmed uncomfortably in bed and rolled over onto his side, pulling his blanket up over his head.

What was he going to do? Dean was his one companion, his playmate and confidant?

"Sam?" a familiar voice called from the bottom of the narrow staircase, "Are you up? Breakfast's on the table, dear."

Poking his head out from under his blanket, Sam listened to the sound of Ms. Gibbons shuffling away.

Not really hungry, Sam stood anyway, knowing that the old witch would worry if he didn't come downstairs to eat.

Quickly changing from his pajamas into a pair of blue jeans and red long-sleeved shirt, Sam left his bedroom, walking in bare feet across the wooden floorboards down the hall towards the stairs.

Sam smiled slightly at the sound of Ms. Gibbons singing a Celestina Warbeck song loudly and slightly off-key as she pottered around the cottage's tiny kitchen.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad without Dean at home. Sam wasn't alone, not with Ms. Gibbons to look after him as she had done almost every day for as long as he could remember.

Grabbing the railing, Sam tried to creep silently down the narrow staircase, but failed as the old wooden planks groaned and creaked beneath his slight weight.

"Ah there you are," Ms. Gibbons smiled at the seven-year old from the cottage's cozy kitchen, "I was afraid you'd sleep all day."

Sam shook his head and smiled, stepping up to the table and sitting down as the elderly witch set a bowl of oatmeal in front of him.

The boy's mood dampened a bit. He hated oatmeal, especially when it wasn't wintertime but Ms. Gibbons insisted on serving it for breakfast whatever the weather.

Reaching out across the table, Sam spooned a copious amount of brown sugar onto the porridge, followed by a sea of milk, creating a small island in the center of the bowl.

Ms. Gibbons sat down across from Sam and added only a pat of butter on her oatmeal before scooping a spoonful into her mouth.

"This morning I was thinking we should work on some arithmetic," the witch told the boy daintily, patting her thin lips with a cloth napkin before speaking.

Sam nodded, stirring sugar into his oatmeal and making caramel swirls in the porridge.

He was familiar with Ms. Gibbons' tutelage. The elderly witch had taught both Winchester boys to read and write at a young age; Dean because he needed the basics before he could go to school and Sam because he wanted to do whatever his big brother was doing.

Even as a small child, Sam had loved learning and had gobbled up Ms. Gibbons' lessons, reading and writing at the same level as Dean though his was four years younger than his brother. Mathematics had held no troubles for the boy either; he was able to calculate simple addition and subtraction problems before moving onto more challenging multiplication and division.

Ms. Gibbons also taught the boys a great deal about the wizarding world as well, more than they would learn from the tiny village of Hogsmeade.

And, as always, the grandmotherly witch was invested in getting the boys, particularly Sam, to show signs of magical ability.

"Finish your breakfast and we'll get started," Ms. Gibbons told Sam, taking her empty bowl to the sink and setting it inside before pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot on the stovetop.

The boy shoved his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal out of the way, "I'm ready."

Ms. Gibbons gave Sam a disapproving look but picked up his bowl and sat it in the sink alongside her own before bewitching the dishes to begin cleaning themselves.

"Very well," she sat down across from the boy and waved her wand, creating a piece of parchment, bottle of ink and quill from seemingly thin air.

"Let's begin."

Sam bent his head over the paper and began scratching his answers to the problems written magically onto the parchment paper.

W

Checking the time on a gold-and-opal encrusted pocket watch; Ms. Gibbons spoke an hour later. A small stack of papers, each one with a set of completed math equations on them, sat beside Sam.

"Why don't you go out and play for a while?" the old witch asked, "You've done enough for now."

Sam looked up, his quill pausing in the middle of jotting down a series of numbers.

"Okay," he replied uncertainly.

It was very rare that he played by himself. There had only been a handful of time, when Dean was too sick to get out of bed, when Sam had had to entertain himself.

Sliding out of his chair, the boy went to the front door and sat on the floor, pulling on his sneakers before standing back up, pulling the door open and stepping out into the garden.

The weather was pleasant. The sky was clear and blue, cloudless, with a slight breeze to remind that autumn was not far away.

John Winchester, who most certainly did not have a green thumb, kept his lawn tidy enough by pulling weeds and watering faithfully, but relied on Ms. Gibbons to tend to the flowerbeds around the cottage and vegetable patch out back.

Sam walked over to the garden and kicked a large purple hydrangea bloom, scattering violet petals everywhere. The broad, dark green leaves did not shake and no indignant grumbling could be heard- there were no gnomes in the garden.

Sighing, Sam bent down and picked up a stick, brandishing it like a wand at an invisible opponent.

Waving the stick wildly, the seven-year old shouted out the names of spells he knew from the books he had read or learned from Ms. Gibbons:

"Lumos!"

"Nox!"

"Alohamora!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Expecto Patronum!"

After a minute or two of dueling with his imaginary enemy, Sam grew bored and tossed the stick over his shoulder.

He wondered what Dean was doing. Did Dean like going to school? Was he making friends? Did he miss him?

Sam missed his brother already.

Sitting down on the lawn, the boy stared at the street beyond the picket fence surrounding the little cottage.

Even though Hogsmeade was the only all-wizarding community in the United Kingdom, there were very few children. The majority of youth who lived in the village were either too old for Sam to play with or else too young,

Walking up to the gate, the seven-year old peered down the road, towards the shops that served the village and surrounding area.

Peering over his shoulder, Sam spied Ms. Gibbons knitting something at the kitchen table while the dishes continued to look after themselves in the sink. The elderly witch was not looking in his direction at all.

Looking down the road again, Sam eased the gate open.

He knew he really wasn't allowed to leave the property without Ms. Gibbons, his Dad or brother but he wasn't going to go far. Just down the street. Besides, Hogsmeade was as safe as could be. Nothing bad ever happened in Hogsmeade.

Stepping through the gate, Sam closed the latch as quietly as he could, glancing up at the window to make sure Ms. Gibbons wasn't watching.

Smiling, excited by the idea of going into the village on his own, Sam started off down the dirt road at a trot.

At first his nerves seemed to warn him that going off on his own, even into Hogsmeade, was a bad idea and that he should just go back and ask Ms. Gibbons to go with him, but they quieted with every step forward.

Digging a hand into the pocket of his blue jeans, Sam felt a half dozen coins inside and smiled. He could go to Honeydukes, get some treats and be back before Ms. Gibbons knew he was gone. Now with a destination in mind, the boy's pace picked up.

Excited and feeling very grown-up, Sam headed down the road that led to the shops within the center of the village.

As he strolled, the boy thought about what he might want from the sweetshop. He definitely had to get some of their signature chocolate, Jelly Slugs, nougat chunks and a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Mouth watering in anticipation of his treat, Sam only had eyes for Honeydukes as he passed the Three Broomsticks, Dervish and Bangs, and Zonko's Joke Shop before ducking into Honeydukes.

A small, silver bell tinkled merrily as the seven-year old stepped inside the shop. Glancing around, the sugary scent of confectionaries tantalizing Sam's nose, the boy realized he was the only customer.

The owner of Honeydukes, Mr. Ambrosius Flume, waved at Sam from behind the counter while his wife, Zelda, stacked a display of Cauldron Cakes.

The boy smiled at the man and waved back. Both Mr. Flume and his wife were friendly and loved children, having none of their own, they devoted their lives to their shop and the happiness of their customers.

Knowing he didn't have much time, Sam gathered the candies he wanted and brought them up to the counter. Dumping his loot beside the register, the seven-year old dug into his pockets for his money.

Mr. Flume waddled sedately to the counter and ran Sam's treats through, pausing to tell him the total price.

Frowning, the boy realized he didn't have enough money for all the candies.

"Um…" he hesitated, trying to decide what he wanted to put back.

"Don't worry about it," Mr. Flume said with a smile, "Call it my treat."

Sam smiled back at the man, "Thanks."

Mr. Flume nodded and reached behind himself to a jar full of licorice wands and pulled out four or five, placing them in the bag along with the other treats.

"Say hello to your Dad for me, okay?" he asked and Sam promised he would, thanking Mr. Flume for the licorice- John's favourite sweet treat- and took the bag from him.

The boy went to the door and paused before pushing it open. He hadn't thought of this before but what if the chocolatier told his father he'd come in on his own?

John wouldn't be happy to find out Sam had gone to Honeydukes all by himself. The boy peered down at the bag in his hand and pushed his way through the door, running down the street towards his cottage.

W

Sam closed his eyes as he sprinted, his heart pounding in his chest from exertion.

When he opened his eyes again he wasn't looking at the quaint village of Hogsmeade, he was staring at a landscape of ruin.

Thatched roofs of cottages lay fallen in, smoldering heaps, doors smashed and hanging from their hinges, a sickly sweet scent filled their air, mixing with the acrid stench of smoke.

Sam didn't dare look over his shoulder but he knew that Honeydukes had been razed to the ground.

Horrible, dark-cloaked figures roamed the gardens and main thoroughfare, silent, their faces skeletal beneath tattered hoods. A gravid yellow moon hung low in the sky, thick black plumes of smoke half hiding it from sight.

Sam's lungs burned in his chest, water rushing from his eyes; all he wanted to do was get home. He continued sprinting down the road, his bag of candies clutched in one hand by pure reflex instead of intention.

The seven-year old caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye; quick stepping feet and the flash of a midnight blue robe and the man with yellow eyes was standing in front of the boy, mere yards away.

Sam skidded to a halt, his breath hitching in his chest.

The wizard smiled as he had in Diagon Alley and held out a hand as though beckoning the child to come closer.

"NO!" Sam shouted and darted between two houses, forced to turn sideways to squeeze between the two structures.

Heart hammering, the boy stared in the direction of the road but did not see the man following after; he was surely too big to fit in the narrow alleyway between the two cottages; and continued until he exited into a thin catwalk between the back gardens of cottages on opposite streets.

The catwalk was paved with flagstones, the space between the garden walls was just enough for the seven-year old to walk without having to turn sideways, though his shoulders did scrape against the fences as he ran.

Unsure of exactly where he was, Sam continued sprinting forward as fast as he could, his feet skidding on the flagstones wet with… the boy looked down and his heart leaped into his throat- there was blood flowing down the catwalk in a steady stream.

Sam lifted his gaze and cried out when his feet flew out from underneath him. Falling backwards, the back of the boy's head connected with the stones and he lost consciousness before he could fully comprehend what had happened.

SPN

John's heart pounded in his chest as he peered down at his youngest son lying in bed. The seven-year old's eyes were closed, as though he was asleep, but his pale face and rosy circles on his cheeks told otherwise.

One of his large, calloused hands gripped his boy's tightly. Temple Gibbons stood over his shoulder, a cup of tea clutched in her thin fingers.

A neighbour, named Jeremiah Nafziger stood in the doorway, looking nervous. An older wizard of about fifty or so, he had short, steel-grey hair and a close-cropped grey beard. Wearing deep red robes that made his brown eyes even darker, the man had heard the younger Winchester racing down the catwalk between the gardens and had gone to investigate. Finding the boy lying unconscious on the flagstones, he had gathered the child up and took him home. Ms. Gibbons had sent an urgent owl to Hogwarts requesting John return to the cottage immediately.

"Perhaps we should take him to the hospital?" Nafziger suggested, "The healers at St. Mungo's-"

John shook his head.

"John," Temple laid a hand on the father's shoulder, "You should-"

"Just wait," John said, "For a little while at least."

SPN

Sam's head pounded with pain. He wanted to stay in the warm darkness but the sound of quiet voices pierced through his cocoon and beckoned him to wake.

Slowly, reluctantly, the boy peeled his eyes open; bright sunlight slanting between the bedroom curtains onto his face.

Feeling someone squeeze his hand, the boy rolled his eyes around the room until they found his father's face.

"Dad," Sam tore his dry lips open to speak, his mouth feeling as though it were coated in sandpaper.

"How are you feeling?" His father asked, his tone brimming with concern.

"Hmm," Sam hummed, "The… the cottages…"

John leaned closer to his son, trying to hear him better.

"What's that?"

"Burned… someone burned the cottages," Sam muttered tiredly.

His father frowned and squeezed his hand again.

"It's okay, Sam," he reassured him.

"I'll go get him some hot cocoa," a papery female voice spoke up and Sam rolled his eyes up to see Ms. Gibbons standing behind his father.

The boy closed his eyes. He licked his dry lips and opened his eyes again. His father still hovered over him; worry etched into his features.

"M'sorry," Sam whispered, and squirmed nervously in bed, gasping when pain seared through his head.

"Hey, hey take it easy," John placed his hand on Sam's chest and the boy stilled.

"What are you sorry about?" His father asked.

With his eyes half-closed, Sam spoke, "Going to Honeydukes without Ms. Gibbons."

"I'm not mad about that," John assured him, "I don't care about that. I'm just upset you got hurt."

Sam felt his face go red and he groaned from the pain in his head.

"Did you… Did you see something, son? Like before when we went to Diagon Alley?" his Dad asked.

Sam didn't respond for a moment- he didn't want to get into trouble- but then he nodded, just once.

He heard his father sigh and John's hand left his chest.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes- hot, bitter tears- and leaked down his face.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he mewled.

"Don't be sorry, Sammy," John told him, "Just… don't be sorry."

W

Sitting up, Sam sipped on the mug of hot cocoa Ms. Gibbons had brought him. At first he hadn't thought he'd be able to sit up because of the wave of nausea that went through him when he tried to, but with his Dad's help, he managed to slump against the headboard of his bed enough to drink the cocoa.

His father and Ms. Gibbons were downstairs in the kitchen. The neighbour who had found him in the catwalk had left once he'd woken up.

On his own, Sam thought about what he had seen as he'd left Honeydukes. He didn't understand it, any more than he had that day in Diagon Alley. It terrified him.

He wondered if the burnt-out cottages and the yellow- eyed man in the dark blue robes were somehow connected to 'accidental magic', the kind every young witch or wizard displayed before they reached the age of eleven.

He felt sick to his stomach just trying to make the connection. The visions, what he saw in them, didn't feel right; there was no way this could be the exhibition of his magical abilities.

Something was wrong with him. He didn't know what it was but it just had to be.

Sam set his untouched mug of cocoa on the nightstand beside his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping one arm around his legs while the other touched the goose egg on the back of his head.

SPN

John stared down at his untouched cup of coffee, his head spinning.

"Do you think this has anything to do with-" Ms. Gibbons, sitting across the table from the father began, but he cut her off before she could finish.

"I'm afraid it might, Temple," John answered quietly.

"Have you told Dumbledore about this?" the witch asked.

John shook his head, "I didn't think it would happen again."

"Diagon Alley," Temple muttered, as much to herself as John.

"But if he's getting hurt because of these… visions… than Dumbledore needs to know," the witch continued, "He'll know what to do."

John nodded, "You're right Temple. Dumbledore will be able to help if anyone can."

The elderly witch placed one thin hand over the father's large calloused one and gave it a comforting pat.

SPN

"Sam? Are you paying attention?"

Ms. Gibbons' irritated voice brought the boy out of his daze. Nearly a week had passed since Sam's fall- much of that time spent in bed getting rest- with the old witch acting as his nurse, but now she reprised her role as tutor.

"Sorry," the boy muttered and looked down at the list of sentences Ms. Gibbons had written out on the parchment in front of him. Sam frowned; he couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be doing with the sentences.

His eyes moving to the top of the paper, the boy saw that he had already identified and circled the verbs, nouns and adjectives in the sentences.

"Are you all right, Sam?"

The seven-year old bit his lip and nodded. Picking up his quill, he scratched a slick, black circle around the word 'cauldron' in the unfinished sentence to placate the old witch.

SPN

Dean's green eyes popped open as though on springs and he sat up in bed. Glancing around the dormitory, he saw that the other first year Gryffindors were still sleeping and it was only then that he realized that the sun wasn't even out yet.

Unable to stay asleep any longer, the eleven-year old stepped onto the worn stone floor and padded to the end of his four-poster bed where his trunk sat. He was surprised to see a pair of robes already sitting on the lid of the trunk, black but with the red and gold Gryffindor crest on the left side of the chest. Along with the robes was a pair of red-and-gold striped gloves and scarf. Picking up one of the gloves, Dean was amazed to find that it fit his hand perfectly.

Well, of course it does, he reasoned, someone probably used magic to make it. Setting the robes, gloves and scarf on the end of his bed, Dean turned his attention to his trunk.

Crouching down and trying to be as quiet as possible, Dean unlocked and opened the trunk lid and picked out a pair of black dress pants and a plaid flannel button up shirt to go underneath his robes. Gathering his clothes, Dean closed the lid of the trunk, climbed over it and onto his bed before drawing the wine-coloured curtains all the way around before dressing.

W

"Dean? How long have you been up, mate?" a soft voice called the boy's name and he looked up from one of the books he'd intended to give to his brother.

Raising his eyes, he saw Fred- or was it George- peering at him from his own bed a few feet away.

"Not long," Dean assured the other boy, "I couldn't wait anymore."

Fred- or George- smiled, "Let me just wake Fred and we'll go down for breakfast."

Dean nodded and sat his book down.

"Oy! Fred! Wake up!" George nearly shouted across the dormitory at his brother, rousing a half-dozen other boys in doing so.

"What are you yelling about?" Lee Jordan asked groggily, brushing his dreadlocks out of his face as he peered around the dormitory sleepily.

"Fist day of school!" George chirped back excitedly, "Everyone wake up!

Many of the other young Gryffindors did not look excited about the first day of school, even if it was a magical school, and George received many angry stares.

The twin ignored the glares directed towards him and shook his brother's shoulder, "Rise and shine, Freddy."

Fred rolled over and narrowed his eyes; "You know I hate it when you call me that."

Dean saw George break into a grin, "Than get dressed. Dean's already beaten us to it."

Peering around his sibling, Fred looked at Dean.

"We can't have that, can we, George?"

George shook his head.

"I'll be in the Common Room," Dean told the twins, grabbing his textbooks from his trunk and closing the lid with a loud thunk.

Making his way passed his classmates, Dean took the narrow, spiral staircase into the Gryffindor common room, to find that a few of the girls were already up and chatting in small groups as they waited for their friends.

"You boys are all just getting up?" a pudgy, black-haired girl named Blossom Henderson, asked.

Dean nodded absentmindedly, "Yeah."

"I've been up since dawn," Blossom told Dean, "I couldn't sleep almost all night. This place… I still can't believe I'm here, you know? It's amazing. Like something out of a fairytale."

Dean nodded and smiled. Blossom was muggle-born and knew nothing about the wizarding world. As excited as Dean was, he knew that his elation must be minimal compared to the girl's.

A trio of laughing girls, that included Doreen Dawkins- this year's first Gryffindor student named- came down the staircase that led to their dormitory and called to Blossom.

"See you in class then," the girl told Dean and he smiled in return.

"You ready to go Dean or are you just gonna sit ogling after those girls all day?" Fred's voice taunted good-naturedly from the doorway to the boys' dormitory.

Dean felt his face go red and he shook his head. The twins tittered and made their way down the stone steps, followed closely by Lee Jordan.

Dean joined the three other boys and together they left the common room and headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

"What's our first class?" Dean asked as the four boys walked through the entryway, the quartet of giant hour glasses shining their gems along one wall, ready for professors to give- and take- House points.

"Uh, History of Magic, I think," Lee told him, brushing his dreadlocks out of his face with a look of irritation.

"What? Oh no!" Fred griped dramatically.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"History of Magic is taught by a ghost," George told Dean and Lee.

"Well, that's cool, isn't it?" Lee said.

The twins both made a face of disgust.

"Professor Binns is as boring as dry toast," Fred told them, "He's been teaching forever. Bill and Charlie both took History of Magic from him when they went here."

Instead of looking mortified at the thought of having to sit for an hour and listen to a moldy old spirit drone on and on about history, Lee grinned.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and fall asleep at the start of class!"

Dean and the twins laughed and entered the Great Hall.

W

Lee Jordan had been right. After about five minutes of listening to the spectral Professor Binns begin reading from a teetering stack of notes, Dean felt his eyes begin to droop.

Peering around at his peers and the first year Ravenclaws they were learning with, he saw that the majority of the class was quickly falling asleep as well or slipping into a daze, their open eyes glazed over as their teacher droned on oblivious to the affect he was having on the group of eleven-year olds.

The minutes seemed to tick by at a snail's pace but finally- finally- an hour had passed and the first years slowly got to their feet, rubbing their eyes or shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs.

"Your brothers weren't lying," Dean muttered to Fred and George as they headed to their next class; Potions with Professor Snape.

"I think the only one who actually likes Professor Binns' lessons is Percy," George joked.

Dean sniggered as they followed the large group of Ravenclaw first years down to the dungeons where the potions master held his classes.

W

"Is it just me or does that teacher give anyone else the heebie-jeebies?" Lee asked as they exited the dungeons; breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the cold, damp subterranean gloom of the Potions classroom.

"He is a tiny bit intense," George agreed, thoughtfully.

"He didn't look very impressed with our potion, did he George?" Fred added and his brother shook his head.

Dean shrugged, "I don't know. Listen, we were getting my school things back in January and we lost my brother. Dad and I had no idea where he was, but Professor Snape found Sam and brought him back to us. He can't be all that bad."

Lee and the twins didn't look convinced but Dean didn't care. Professor Snape had saved him and his dad from what would probably have been hours of frantic searching for his brother in the organized chaos that was Diagon Alley.

"Just remember that when he fails you at finals, mate!" Fred joked.

"Who's hungry?" George asked, changing the subject, the scent of lunch wafting towards them from the Great Hall.

"Starving," Lee answered.

"Race you?" George asked and the other boy nodded, giving a lopsided grin.

Seconds later the two boys were off, dodging and weaving between their fellow students in the busy hallways.

Fred and Dean followed at a more sedate pace.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked and Fred nodded.

"What is it?" the redheaded boy sensed that his friend was about to ask something important and he turned a serious eye on him.

"Well, thinking about Sam- my brother- he… he's seven and hasn't shown any magic. How old were you and George when you two knew you were wizards?"

"When I was five, I turned our little brother's teddy bear into a spider- a big one- by accident," Fred told Dean, "Ron had broken my toy broomstick and I was so angry, so upset that I just did magic without even thinking about it, you know? I never really knew what was going to happen, it just did."

Dean nodded. He felt a little better about Sam. He still seemed young enough to display magic for the first time.

"Why?" Fred asked, curious.

"I'm… Dad and I are afraid Sam's a Squib," Dean told the other boy, "I mean, I was pretty young when I first showed magical ability but-"

"How old were you?" Fred interrupted.

"Around your age," Dean admitted, "Dad had made us liver and onions for dinner and I just remember crying and crying and refusing to eat it. I would not eat it and when Dad practically shoved a piece in my mouth I found I wasn't eating liver, it was a piece of pie."

The red-haired boy laughed out loud.

"I ate all of that liver and asked for seconds because when I put it into my mouth, it turned into strawberry pie," Dean smiled at the memory, "I never told Dad about it though and I have to choke down liver and onions to this day whenever he makes them because I can't get the same affect as I did the first time."

"A few weeks after that we were listening to a Quidditch game over the radio and the Falcons lost. I started crying, I had so wanted them to win, and then it started raining. Inside the house. That's when Dad and Ms. Gibbons realized I was a wizard."

"And your brother's never done anything like that?" Fred asked.

Dean's thought turned momentarily to Sam telling him and John about the strange, terrifying vision he had had while in Diagon Alley but then he shook his head.

"No," he told Fred, "But we're hoping he's just a late bloomer."

The other boy nodded, "I'm sure that's-"

"EXCUSE ME!"

Fred stopped mid-sentence as an angry female voice shouted above the din of student voices.

"That doesn't sound good," he said and Dean shook his head. Together, pushing their way past the other students, Fred and Dean headed in the direction George and Lee had gone.

Just inside the doors of the Great Hall stood the two racers, Professor McGonagall facing them with her hands on her hips.

"Uh oh," Dean muttered.

"They've done it now," Fred added in a whisper.

"Running in the halls?" McGonagall's voice pierced through the conversation around her and drew attention to the two naughty students.

"We were just having a bit of fun, Professor," George told her hopefully, "We weren't hurting anyone."

"Hurting anyone, indeed," the witch commented sarcastically, "Do you not see how crowded it is? You could easily have hit someone? A teacher or a fellow student?"

"But we didn't," George commented.

"If you had, you could have seriously harmed someone," McGonagall commented.

"We won't do it again," Lee told her, a look of angelic innocence on his face.

"No," the witch agreed, "You won't. Mr. Jordan, five points from Gryffindor for disobeying the rules and putting your fellow students in danger.

"And Mr. Weasley, five points for disobedience and another five for being smart with me."

"Fifteen points!" George exclaimed.

"Anything else and I'll take another five," McGonagall warned.

The boy's mouth snapped shut and he muttered something that sounded like "no, ma'am."

The boys moved to one side as the professor headed into the Great Hall, making her way towards the teacher's table.

Fred and Dean joined George and Lee.

"Who spit in her oatmeal this morning?" George grouched.

His brother shrugged.

"Let's just get something to eat and forget this happened," Dean suggested.

"Not likely," Lee commented with a sarcastic half-smile, "We have Transfiguration next."

George groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't know the name of Mr. Ambrosius Flume's wife so I decided to call her Zelda. A very witchy name, if some of you remember watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch, you will be familiar with her aunts Hilda and Zelda.
> 
> Please leave Kudos or a Comment.


	4. Halloween

"I'm just worried that Sam's visions have to do with… Mary's murder," John sat in the chair across from Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster's large desk separating the two men. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black glaring at the school's caretaker from over Dumbledore's shoulder.

The elderly wizard tented his fingers as he peered at the younger man through his half-moon glasses. Today he was wearing grey robes that shimmered silvery whenever he moved.

"John," Dumbledore began, "You and I both know that the wizard responsible for your wife's death is still in Azkaban prison. If he were to escape, the Ministry would be immediately informed and thus, so would you."

"I'm not worried about him breaking out!" John snapped, not meaning to, "I'm worried he's… bewitching Sam or… or something…"

Even as he spoke, he knew his worries sounded immature. He may not know much about the wizarding world but he knew that the man who had killed his wife was serving a life-sentence in Azkaban, along with many other Dark Wizards, his wand long-since destroyed. The man had no way to access magic without a wand, trapped in a prison patrolled by monstrous creatures meant to suck out any bit of joy from the inmates.

"I understand your concern," Dumbledore continued, not even reacting to John's outburst, "But I assure you, your son is safe."

John nodded, not feeling as relieved as he felt he would before speaking with the Headmaster. He had thought that maybe Dumbledore would actually be able to do something for his boy.

"It's just… Sam gets so scared… and that scares me," the father explained, not meaning to pour his heart out to the older man but doing so anyway. Dumbledore had a way of disarming people and making them more willing to truly speak what was on their minds- whether it was magic or the fact that he simply looked like a kindly grandfather, John didn't know.

"Do you know what helps to squash feelings of fear and unhappiness?" Dumbledore asked.

John looked up, expecting the Headmaster to say something profound.

"Chocolate," the elderly wizard smiled, "Is the best medicine."

"Chocolate," John repeated slowly, to be sure he'd heard the wizard correctly.

Dumbledore nodded, "It has amazing properties. Even muggles know some of them. Whenever your son is feeling particularly frightened, I suggest he eat chocolate. Honeydukes is the best, of course, but I'm sure you know that."

The Headmaster smiled as though proud of himself for bestowing these words of wisdom on the father.

"Okay," John replied, realizing that the man was finished with him, "Thank you, Professor."

The caretaker stood and left the office without another word, more confused than he had been before he had entered.

"You did the right thing, Albus," Phineas Nigellus Black commented from over Dumbledore's shoulder once the Headmaster was alone again, "Men such as he would not be able to handle the truth. Squibs-"

"Hush," Dumbledore warned the portrait, his tone warm and amicable, however, "He should know the truth but not now… not now."

SPN

The second week of school, Dean experienced his first Quidditch game. It was Hufflepuff against Slytherin but everyone came out to watch, even students from the other two Hogwarts houses because who wanted to pass up a chance to sit outside in the pleasant early fall weather and cheer on their peers as they played the wizarding world's most popular sport?

Dean, sitting in the red-and-gold Gryffindor bleachers with Fred, George and Lee, cheered on the Hufflepuffs as they fought valiantly against the Slytherin team.

Dean had only ever seen one Quidditch game before- the Falmouth Falcons versus the Kenmare Kestrels- in August; his father's gift for his eleventh birthday. Most of the time he simply listened to the commentary on the radio- that is, when Ms. Gibbons wasn't listening to the Witching Hour- and seeing a live game, played by professionals or students was just so much better.

Although this wasn't as exciting as watching his favourite team play- school rules were a bit stricter than the professional Quidditch ones- it was still exhilarating to watch the two teams fight to win the most points, their Seekers striving to catch the golden Snitch first.

"Go! Go! Go!" Dean shouted as he watched the Hufflepuff Seeker, a thin girl named Eliza Gingerich, suddenly flew straight up in the air, her hand held out as she caught sight of the tiny, flying ball.

The Slytherin Seeker, a boy named Travis Muggins, followed close behind Eliza, trying to overtake her and catch the Snitch himself.

Reaching his hand out, the Slytherin Seeker grabbed onto the back of Eliza's broom, causing her to falter and begin spiraling downward, struggling to gain control.

"He can't do that!" Lee shouted vehemently from beside Dean, "Madam Hooch!"

As though summoned by the boy's indignant cries, the professor blew her whistle and forced Travis Muggins to stop on his way to catching the Snitch.

"Unprofessional conduct!" the teacher shouted up at him, "Penalty, Hufflepuff."

It was clear from his body language that Travis Muggins was not pleased with Madam Hooch's decision but he did not try and argue. Instead he watched as one of the Hufflepuff Chasers was given the Quaffle, flew towards the Slytherin goalposts from the central circle on the pitch and threw it towards the middle, and tallest ring. The Slytherin Keeper very nearly caught the bright red ball but it slipped from between his fingers and went trough the goal, earning Hufflepuff an additional ten points.

The score was 50-40 with Hufflepuff now in the lead.

Everyone cheered, everyone of course except the Slytherins, who looked murderous.

Eliza Gingerich continued on her way, her eyes constantly seeking the Snitch.

The game ended in the next ten minutes. Unfortunately, even with their lead, Hufflepuff had lost their chance when Travis Muggins had grabbed Eliza's broom and within minutes, the Slytherin Seeker had spotted the Snitch, quickly grabbing it out of the air, a smug look on his face, while Eliza was still searching for it.

Heading back towards the school, the boys felt just as indignant if it had been their own House that had lost the match.

"Hufflepuff hardly ever wins," George told them, "Percy thinks its because they don't take the game seriously enough. I think it's because they're just too nice."

"They may be nice but Slytherins are cheaters," Lee grumbled, "They don't even let you grab brooms in professional matches!"

"Hey! Dean!" a loud, gruff voice shouted from behind the friends and Dean turned to see Rubeus Hagrid coming towards him, parting students as though he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

"Hey!" Dean called back and waved, smiling.

The boy felt someone nudge his elbow and he turned to see Fred staring up at the large man making his way closer to them, "You know him?"

Dean nodded. Of course he knew Hagrid. Although most of the grown ups at Hogwarts were pleasant to his Dad, John Winchester had a special friendship with the school's groundskeeper.

"Haven't seen you around," Hagrid commented, coming to a stop in front of Dean, "I was hoping to catch you after the match."

"How're you liking Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked, his small, beady eyes twinkling.

"It's awesome!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm making lots of friends- oh- this is Lee and Fred and George."

The boy turned to introduce his friends to the groundskeeper. The three looked a little intimidated by Hagrid's height and gruff appearance.

"Maybe after class today," Hagrid turned his attention back to Dean after smiling at his friends, "You wanna come and have tea with me? If yer not busy o'course."

"Sure," Dean told him, "I'll be there tonight."

The groundskeeper smiled, "See you then."

Turning to Dean's friends, "Yer invited too. If you want."

Fred, George and Lee nodded mutely. Dean sniggered as Hagrid turned and headed back across the lawn towards his hut.

"You're friends with him?!" Lee exclaimed. They of course had seen Hagrid around the school grounds, working in the gardens that fed the students and teachers, chopping wood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but never had they actually spoken to him, or he them.

Dean nodded, "He's really friends with my Dad."

"Makes sense," Fred commented, "The groundskeeper and the caretaker."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "Part of the staff, but not teachers… kind of outsiders. Hagrid can't do magic either."

"He's a Squib too?" Lee asked but Dean shook his head.

"He got into trouble when he was a student here, a long time ago, got expelled and the Ministry took away his wand," Dean explained.

"What did he do?" George asked.

"I don't know," Dean admitted, "He never said. But Dumbledore let him stay and be groundskeeper."

"Wow," Lee breathed, peering over his shoulder to watch Hagrid, dressed in patched, faded trousers and his moleskin coat, lumber back towards his hut, "That's kind of sad."

Dean shrugged, "He doesn't seem to mind."

"Let's get something to eat," Fred announced, "I'm starving."

The three other boys agreed and they headed towards the Great Hall.

W

Dean raised his hand and knocked sharply on the wooden door of Hagrid's hut. He couldn't convince the other boys to go with him, but that was okay. He could always try next time.

"Comin'," the groundskeeper's gruff, warm voice called from inside the hut, even as his boarhound, Fang, barked loudly in response to Dean's arrival.

The door opened wide and the boy stepped inside the warm hut. It was small, only one room, but cozy. A rectangular table sat in the center, with two long benches on either side; a bed covered with a frayed patchwork quilt was pushed up against the far wall and a fireplace with a raging fire filled the wall across from the front door.

Dean sat down on one side of the table.

"Yer friends didn't come?" Hagrid asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

"They had homework to do," Dean lied and smiled as Hagrid handed him a cup brimming with hot cocoa and a plate of treacle fudge. The groundskeeper sat across from Dean, drinking firewhiskey from a flagon.

"So, how are you liking school?" Hagrid asked.

"I like most of my classes," Dean answered, "Except History of Magic, its really boring."

One of Hagrid's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You even like Potions?"

Dean shrugged. Professor Snape didn't see like the nicest person but he had helped them when Sam was missing so he was going to reserve judgment. Besides, as long as Dean kept quiet and followed the instructions written on the board, Snape had no reason to flunk him.

"I wish it wasn't in the dungeons," he admitted, "But yeah, it's okay."

Hagrid chuckled, "Yer probably the only non-Slytherin student to say that. Ever."

Dean grinned and took a large slurp of cocoa.

SPN

"Sam! Come in for lunch!" Ms. Gibbons' voice called out to the seven-year old and the boy looked up from where he lay in the back garden, watching fluffy white clouds move silently across the sky.

Standing, Sam hurried around to the front of the cottage and stepped inside, slipping off his sneakers before entering the kitchen.

"Look at the state of your jumper!" the elderly witch exclaimed and Sam peered down at his front. There was nothing wrong with his sweater. Yes, it was a hand-me-down from Dean and the colour had faded, the threads balling a bit, but it looked all right to him.

Ms. Gibbons approached and brushed dried leaves from the boy's back. Sam gave a half-smile as the witch muttered something about it not being mud at least.

"Sit and eat," Ms. Gibbons told the boy, waving her wand and enchanting the broom leaning beside the door to sweep up the leaves.

Sam sat down at the table where a place had been set for him and began shoveling spoonfuls of the beef stew Ms. Gibbons had made into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in days.

The elderly witch sat down and buttered the piece of bread sitting beside Sam's bowl for him.

"Slow down, there's no rush," Ms. Gibbons warned, her lips pursed tightly.

Sam swallowed a chunk of potato and nodded, sipping the stew from his spoon self-consciously.

"Sorry," he muttered.

His tutor smiled.

It was the first day of October, the first day when it actually felt like autumn. The leaves had begun dropping from the trees, the air had a new crispness to it and if Sam didn't know any better he thought he could actually smell the snow coming.

"What were you doing outside?" Ms. Gibbons asked, spooning stew from her own bowl to her mouth.

Sam blushed, "I was… uh… watching the clouds."

The witch nodded, "And did they tell you anything?"

The boy frowned, "What?"

"Pardon," Ms. Gibbons corrected.

"Pardon," Sam repeated.

"Did the clouds tell you anything? Did you see any messages in them?"

"Oh… no?" Sam answered, wondering why the witch was asking him that.

"You'll learn to read the signs in the clouds, the weather," Ms. Gibbons told him, "It's part of Astrology. You'll take it once you get to Hogwarts."

"If I ever show magic," Sam muttered.

"Pardon?" Ms. Gibbons asked.

"Nothing," the boy replied and shoved a piece of carrot into his mouth.

W

Ms. Gibbons watched the seven-year old as he rolled around in the grass in the back garden and sighed.

She knew how badly the boy wanted to go to Hogwarts. But magic was something you were either born with or not, and no amount of wishing would change that.

Temple thought of the family she had grown up next to, while she and her brother Boniface had both shown their magical abilities at an early age, the Figgs, who only had one child- a daughter named Arabella- had been devastated to find out that she was a Squib. Arabella and Temple had been friends up until they turned eleven. They had done everything together but then Temple's letter came. Arabella did not get hers. Soon afterwards, the Figgs sent their daughter away to a relative who lived in the muggle world who would be able to look after the girl and Temple had not heard from her since. The last news Temple had had about her friend was that she had married a muggle and moved to Surrey.

Temple knew that there was a high chance that Sam would not have any magic. He was seven already and his brother had shown his abilities when he had been five or so.

She knew that although some children were late-bloomers, the chances of having a Squib in the family increased when wizards married muggles. Even though John wasn't a muggle, he was the next best thing. He as well, had been the product of a wizard- Henry Winchester- marrying a muggle- a woman named Millie- so Sam's chances increased despite the fact that his mother had been a witch.

Turning away from the window, Temple turned on the radio so she would be able to catch the Witching Hour.

If Sam did turn out to be a Squib, perhaps Dumbledore would let him go with John and learn how to be caretaker when his father retired.

SPN

As the end of October crept ever closer, Hogwarts hummed with anticipation of Halloween. The trees in the Forbidden Forest began to turn orange, yellow and red; their leaves drifting serenely to the ground; the edged of the Lake were skimmed with ice in the early morning, only to melt away by noon, and the air had taken on a chill that remained throughout the days.

"Percy says Halloween is awesome here," Fred was saying one morning during the final week of the month, "It never disappoints."

"This'll be the first year I miss going out Trick r' Treating," Lee announced, spreading marmalade onto a piece of toast.

"Hey Dean, what does-" George began but stopped when he spotted the other boy picking at his bacon and eggs without eating.

"Are you okay?" George asked, concern for his friend clear on his face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Dean muttered, "Just not hungry."

"Nuh uh, mate," Fred put an arm around his shoulders, "What's wrong?"

"Aren't you excited for Halloween?" Lee asked through a mouthful of toast.

Dean looked up and forced himself to smile, "I'm fine. Really."

"We're not buying it," George told him, "What's eating you?"

"You can tell us," Fred insisted.

The boy sighed and shoved his plate of uneaten food away.

"It's stupid," he muttered.

"Who cares?" Fred told him, "What's the matter?"

"My mom's dead, right?" Dean looked up at his friends; the three other boys nodded.

"Well, she died on November second," he continued.

"Oh," George commented, "Dean, we didn't-"

Dean shook his head, "No, it's okay. It was a long time ago."

"How did she die?" Lee blurted before he could stop himself and then lowered his face, his dark cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Dean's expression turned serious. He wasn't mad at Lee. It was only natural that he'd want to know more about Dean's mum. He hadn't really talked much about her with the other boy; Fred and George only knew a little bit more about her than he did.

"She was killed by a Dark Wizard," Dean told them, whispering, "One of Voldemort's supporters in the USA."

All three boys flinched when Dean spoke the Dark Lord's name but he ignored them.

"What?" Fred asked, his brown eyes as wide as saucers.

Dean nodded, "Dad told me he was trying to recruit for Voldemort- or he thought he was- and he found us."

"What… what happened?" George asked, his expression exactly the same as his twin's.

"I was asleep so I don't remember much," Dean confessed, "But Dad told me what happened later. He was asleep on the couch with the TV on so he didn't know anything was wrong at first. Then, he heard Mom scream and Sammy crying upstairs and he ran to the nursery."

Lee, George and Fred leaned forward so that they wouldn't miss a second of Dean's story.

"When he got there," Dean paused, "Mom was dead and there was a fire…."

The bell for their first class rang but all four boys ignored it as though they were deaf to its tolling.

"I heard Dad yelling and Sammy crying and ran to the sound," Dean continued, "Only to have Dad shove my brother into my arms and tell me to run as fast as I could. I was so scared; I didn't know what was happening. I couldn't see Mom… only the flames… and the fear in Dad's voice only made it worse."

"When we got outside the fire department was already there… and Dumbledore," Dean told them.

"Dumbledore?" Fred asked, "As in, our Headmaster?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah."

"Why was he there?" George asked.

Dean ignored the question.

"Did he know your parents?" Fred asked.

Dean nodded, "He knew Mom. She went to Hogwarts when she was a kid, when Dumbledore was still just a professor."

George looked confused, "How did he get to America so fast? How did he know about your Mom's death?"

Dean shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it before.

"Magic?" he replied like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Did your Dad know your Mom was a witch?" Lee asked.

"Not until the night she died," Dean replied, "Dumbledore told Dad everything."

The eleven-year old vividly recalled sitting beside his father in a 24-Hour diner miles away from Lawrence, Kansas, the elderly wizard in the booth seat across from them, holding Sam as tenderly as any parent would while the exhausted-looking waitress kept refilling their cups of coffee and fulfilling their requests for more pie. Dean didn't think he'd ever eaten so much pie in his life, but his Dad and Dumbledore just ordered more and more, as though the sweet, comforting pastry would somehow erase their memories of that awful night.

"Dumbledore couldn't leave us," Dean continued, "I think he wasn't sure if we were safe, so he offered Dad a job and that was that. We took what wasn't too badly damaged in the fire and moved to Hogsmeade. Dad started at Hogwarts and our neighbour looked after Sam and I when we were really small. We've been here ever since."

Fred sat back, "Wow."

Dean smiled, slightly. He had never told that story to anyone- other than his little brother (the condensed version anyway) and it felt good to share the burden, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

All four boys were silent for a long moment before Lee looked around the Great Hall and saw they were the only ones left.

"Better get to class," he stood, shoving the last bite of toast into his mouth.

"Lucky its just History of Magic," George chuckled, "Binns won't even know we're late."

SPN

Sam loved Halloween. He loved the free treats Mr. and Mrs. Flume gave out at Honeydukes, he loved listening to the scary stories they played on the radio, but most of all he loved carving Jack-O-Lanterns.

Sitting on the step leading up to the cottage, a fat, orange pumpkin atop pages from the Daily Prophet, knife in hand.

Although he knew Ms. Gibbons could just wave her wand and the pumpkins would carve themselves, Sam, like any other little boy his age, wanted the physical experience of cutting into the squash, of pulling out its insides. He wanted to squish the strings of pumpkin guts and slimy seeds between his fingers; breathe in the vegetable, slightly salty scent of the pumpkin; feel the pride that came from knowing that he had designed and carved a Jack-O-Lantern with his own two hands and not some spell.

Ms. Gibbons sat beside Sam on the step, watching him carefully, sipping hot apple cider.

The boy, with tongue sticking out in concentration, stabbed the blade of the kitchen knife into the squash and began sawing at the orange flesh, cutting around the pumpkin's gnarled stem to create a hole big enough for his hand to fit through.

"Can we roast the seeds?" Sam asked the witch and she nodded, "And can we make pie from the guts?"

Ms. Gibbons smiled, "You know Dean won't be here."

"I like pie too!" Sam insisted, "And I know I won't see Dean 'til Christmas break."

"All right," the witch placated the boy, "We can have pie."

Sam smiled and continued carving his pumpkin, dumping the stringy insides onto the newspaper beside him.

"Do you want some cider?" Ms. Gibbons asked.

The seven-year old made a face, "Can I have cocoa?"

Standing, the elderly witch opened the door to the cottage, "Put the knife down until I come back out."

Sam sighed but did as she asked, setting the knife onto the Daily Prophet on the ground, pumpkin juice soaking into its pages.

He watched as Ms. Gibbons stepped inside before picking the knife up again. He wasn't a little kid, he could use a knife without getting hurt. Sometimes he hated how she treated him like a baby.

Deciding he should cut out the triangles for the Jack-O-Lantern's eyes, Sam gripped the rim of the hole in the top of the pumpkin with one hand and jabbed the knife into the side of the squash with the other… stabbing his palm as he did so.

For a second, the boy didn't know what had happened, and then the pain started and he pulled his hand out of the pumpkin to see blood leaking down his hand from a half-inch cut in his palm.

It wasn't the pain- though now it was throbbing in time with every beat of his heart- but the sight of the blood on his hand that forced the saliva from Sam's mouth and a whine to escape from his lips.

It looks like his hand, Sam thought of the yellow-eyed wizard and shuddered, standing so suddenly he knocked his pumpkin over and sent it rolling down the path.

With his uninjured hand, Sam grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it open.

"Sam? Sam, are you all right? What's wrong?" he heard Ms. Gibbons' voice from the cottage's kitchen before he felt her warm, thin hands on his shoulders.

"Oh Sam, your hand!" the witch exclaimed, "Here, let me fix it."

The boy stared down at his palm and watched as the blood seemed to leak back into the cut and the wound healed itself, leaving no scar, the pain vanishing as though it had never been.

"Sam? Samuel? Can you hear me?"

Sam lifted his eye and met Ms. Gibbons' concerned gaze. Frowning, she put her palm to his forehead.

"Do you want your hot cocoa?" she asked and Sam shook his head.

"No thanks," he muttered.

"Are you going to finish carving your pumpkin?"

"No," Sam whispered, "You can finish it."

SPN

Halloween fell on a Wednesday that year and it was clear to all the professors that their students' minds were not on their schoolwork.

McGonagall, realizing she was going to get nowhere with the lesson she had planned, showed the children how to transform river rocks into gourds. By the end of Transfiguration, all the desks were crowded with orange, white, and green gourds of all shapes and sizes, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws competing to see which house could create the most unique specimen.

During History of Magic, while Binns droned on and on, a group of third year Ravenclaws who had been to Hogsmeade over the weekend, passed around candies and treats for everyone to enjoy.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick taught the students how to make cobwebs and decorated the entire classroom with them until it looked like one giant spiders' nest.

While Dean and his friends ate lunch, they discussed the events of the morning.

"This is awesome," Lee commented, shoving a piece of steak and kidney pie into his mouth.

Fred nodded but George didn't look too pleased.

"Our fun ends here, boys," he told them, "We have Potions next."

Lee and Fred groaned, "Forgot about that."

Dean, chewing a half of a ham and cheese sandwich, shrugged, "Maybe it won't be so bad."

George snorted into his soup.

"Your mad if you actually like Snape as a teacher," Fred told him, "He failed me and Lee last week for our potion."

Dean set his crust on the plate, "We did all right, didn't we, George?"

George lifted his hand and made a 'so-so' motion.

"We didn't fail," he told his brother, "Just."

"Well we have Herbology afterwards," Dean brightened up, "So we've got that to look forward to."

SPN

Potions class wasn't as bad as Dean thought it would be. It was worse.

The dungeons were as cold and damp as ever and Dean quickly found himself shivering even though he had a pair of blue jeans and a knitted jumper under his robes.

Snape also wasn't into the best of moods. He seemed to have picked up a bit of a bug, which turned his hooked nose a bright red, extremely noticeable compared to his sallow-skinned face. His nose, as well as being the same shade of red as a stop sign, was also stuffed, which muffled his voice, making it harder for the students to hear him. And it dripped. For the entire sixty minutes, over the bubbling of cauldrons or the soto voce whispers, all the students could hear was their professor snorting and sniffling. Snape never used a tissue or handkerchief and the wet sounds he made every time he sucked back mucus was as irritating as it was sickening.

Leaving the dungeons and heading out to the greenhouses for Herbology, George let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Honestly, I thought I was going to barf if I didn't get out of there!" he exclaimed, "Can't he just blow his nose?"

The boys chuckled and pushed through their fellow Gryffindors to get to the greenhouses first, breaking into a dash across the grounds, leaves crunching beneath their shoes and the cool late October wind whipping their hair back from their faces.

W

"I'm starving," Dean announced to his friends as they stepped inside, cheeks rosy from the cool air and stomachs growling.

The Entrance Hall was full of students from all four houses, laughing, shouting and chatting, happy to be finished classes for the day and excited about the Halloween feast.

The friends stood behind a hulking seventh-year Slytherin who pushed open one of the doors to the Great Hall and they got their first glance at the decorations.

Dean's mouth dropped open at the sight of the Hall transformed. Real, carved pumpkins, and orange and black streamers now joined the suspended candles that always lit up the tables; the tables themselves draped with orange clothes and bats fluttered to and fro across the hall, squeaking quietly.

The feast itself seemed to have changed as well; glazed hams and whole turkeys replaced the more common roast beefs; tureens of soups now joined the gravys and sauces, dishes of carrots, Brussels sprouts, turnip, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. As well as savoury treats; candies and sweets had also been placed on the table. Plates of caramel and candied apples, chocolates, pumpkin, pecan, and bumble berry pies, cauldron cakes, crystalized pineapple, fudge, and nougat were just some of the offerings Dean recognized.

"Percy wasn't kidding," he muttered to himself and took at seat at the Gryffindor table with his friends.

"This is like Thanksgiving and Christmas all rolled into one," Dean told Lee but forgot the other boy would probably not know what Thanksgiving was.

Not sure what to try first, Dean was saved from his indecision when George dropped a handful of peppermint imps on his plate.

"Try them, Dean," he smiled as he chewed the sticky treat carefully, the black tarlike candies coating his teeth, "They're great."

W

"I've not eaten so much in my life," Lee lounged on one of the cushy red chairs in the Common Room, patted his stomach, "I won't need food for the rest of the week."

"How about for the rest of the year?" George commented, still nibbling away at a bright red candy apple.

"How are you still eating?" Fred asked and both boys laughed.

Dean was only half listening to his friends. Resting with his chin on the arm on his chair, he stared into the fire blazing away in the grate, bathing the room in a warm glow.

SPN

Sam stirred the stew in his bowl without eating it. Ms. Gibbons, sitting across from the boy, frowned.

"What's wrong Sam? You love my lamb stew," she asked.

The boy lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"I'm not hungry."

"Do you want some pumpkin pie? There's still some left," Temple tried but Sam shook his head.

"May I be excused?" the boy asked and Temple told him he could.

Watching the boy walk upstairs to his room, Temple told herself he would be better in a few days, once the anniversary of Mary's death was come and gone.

But it's never affected Sam so, Ms. Gibbons thought to herself as she cleaned up the kitchen, waving her wand- nine inches, applewood, with a core of unicorn hair- and tried to recall if the boy had ever been so morose around this time of the year before.

The elderly witch told herself that she would cheer up the boy; tomorrow they'd go to Honeydukes and she'd let Sam pick out whatever he wanted. He already had some treats the chocolatier had been giving away before Halloween, but if Ms. Gibbons knew little boys, and she liked to think she knew the two she had been looking after since they were wee, they could never have enough sweets.

Stepping outside, Ms. Gibbons peered at the dark village for a long moment, breathing in the scents of dry leaves and wood smoke, before bending down to lift the top of Sam's pumpkin and blowing out the candle inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you're enjoying this story!


	5. Holidays

After Halloween, the rest of the semester flew by. Within no time, classes turned towards the upcoming examinations and many students could be found in their common rooms or the Library, cramming for the tests.

Dean had never been one to study, even while at home and receiving tutoring from Ms. Gibbons, he'd much rather play outside than sit with his nose stuck in a book for hours.

He just didn't see the point of studying. If he knew something, he knew it. If he didn't, well, it must not be that important.

Fred and George were just as laissez-faire about the end of semester exams, much to Percy's disapproval. Every time he saw the twins doing something other than studying, he told them how upset their parents would be if they knew how careless they were being with their education.

"Being a hoity-toity Ministry official is a great aspiration for you, Perce," Fred would say some variation of the same thing every time their older brother made a comment, "But George and I, we were made for fun-er things."

"There's no such word as fun-er," Percy would grumble, in a tone that said 'see what I mean?'

"That's exactly why you two need to get your priorities straight."

But the twins ignored their older brother, instead of spending the time they weren't in classes with Dean and Lee, teasing the giant squid in the Black Lake, exploring the castle, or visiting Hagrid.

After Halloween, Dean had practically dragged his three friends to the groundskeeper's hut, insistent that they meet him.

"He won't bite, I promise," Dean assured his friends.

George, Lee, and Fred didn't look so sure. But they couldn't exactly say no so they reluctantly followed Dean to Hagrid's home on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

After their first nerve-wracking meeting with the groundskeeper, they wondered what they had ever been afraid of. Hagrid was the best. He always had treacle fudge or tarts ready for them when they popped in after classes, offering tea or hot cocoa to the boys as the days grew colder and snow began to dust the lawn like powdered sugar.

Although Dean didn't usually see much of his Dad since he was in class during the day, at Hagrid's, or exploring the castle with his friends, sometimes the two would meet in the hallway; John holding a broom or a mop and Dean carrying a stack of books or parchment.

More often than not, they would simply exchange a quick 'hello' to one another and go on their way, but once, Dean found his father already in Hagrid's hut after school.

"Dean," John looked up, surprised, as his son stepped inside.

"Dad," Dean, equally shocked, paused on the threshold, not sure what he should do.

"Siddown," Hagrid told him, "There's room for you too, Dean. Yer friends aren't here?"

The eleven-year-old shook his head.

"I've got some tea," the groundskeeper told him, "If you'll have it."

"Sure," Dean commented and sat down across from his father. John already had a large earthenware mug in front of him but Dean didn't think there was tea inside.

"How are you doing?" John asked, "Are you ready for your exams?"

Dean looked at his father, "You could just as my professors."

"I'm asking you," John commented, taking a large gulp of liquid from his mug, "I want you to tell me."

Dean shrugged, "Okay, I guess."

"Okay?" John repeated.

His son nodded, "I'm not failing."

"Dean, your marks are important," John told him, "Just like in any other school."

Dean sighed, "I know, Dad. I'm just… I'm not like Sammy."

John didn't say anything for a long moment, "I know you're not."

Dean sat back when Hagrid placed a mug of tea in front of him.

"Milk or sugar?" the groundskeeper asked and Dean nodded, "Please."

"Don't worry, John," Hagrid turned his attention to Dean's father, setting a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar in front of the boy, "You don't have to, at least until he gets to his fifth year and has to take his O.W.L.S."

The groundskeeper smiled, his dark eyes sparkling, his friend sighing and shaking his head before draining his mug.

Dean wasn't sure why his Dad was so concerned about how well he did in school anyway. He was at Hogwarts, the best magical school around, and besides, though he might not be a bookworm like his brother, he had always done a decent-enough job when Ms. Gibbons was tutoring him.

"I'm passing in all my classes," Dean assured his father with a smile, "Even Potions."

"All right," John said, "I won't ask about your marks again."

Speaking of his brother, Dean realized he hadn't thought much about Sam since he'd started school. He had made friends with Fred, George and Lee, knowing full well Sam had no one in the village his age to play with and felt guilty.

"How's Sammy doing?" he asked his father now, pausing after his question to take a sip of tea. He made a face, added more sugar than he already had and tried it again. Better.

"Has he done any magic yet?"

John shook his head, "Not yet. But he's all right. He can't wait to see you at Christmas."

Dean nodded, sipping on his sweetened tea. Young wizards and witches normally showed their magical abilities by the time they were seven. Sam, who would be eight next May, still hadn't shown any magical talent. Dean looked into his milky beverage to avoid John's eye. He was sure his Dad was considering the same thing he was; that Sam really was a Squib.

Dean finished his tea quickly and bade goodbye to his Dad and Hagrid. That was the last time Dean saw his father before Christmas break; he was too busy running from class to class for examinations and John had his own end-of-semester cleaning to do.

The morning after exams concluded, Lee, Fred, and George packed their trunks and headed out to the train that would take them back to King's Cross Station.

"You're staying?" Lee asked Dean while they stood on the platform.

"Sam and Ms. Gibbons are coming after lunch to pick me up," Dean explained, "Dad's staying to finish cleaning and then he'll have a holiday too."

"Hey!" George shouted, hanging out of one of the train's windows, "You should come visit us! We can come get you and everything!"

Fred's face appeared alongside his brother's, "Bring your Dad too! Our parents would love to meet him! Your brother can meet Ron, they're the same age."

Dean smiled, "I'll have to ask Dad."

"Do it!" George demanded.

Dean and Lee laughed.

"Have a good Christmas," Dean told his friend.

"You too, Dean," he climbed up the steps that led into the Hogwarts Express, "See you in January."

Dean waited until the train was nothing but a red dot in the distance, a trail of white smoke puffing out from its engine and into the clear blue sky, before walking back to the school. He wasn't the only one to take his time returning to Hogwarts.

Students staying over the Christmas holiday walked slowly, though not dejectedly back. The weather was quite nice for early December. It was brisk but not chilly, worthy of a coat but many children had their heads and hands uncovered.

"Dean!" a girl's voice caused the boy to stop and he saw Blossom Henderson jogging to catch up to him.

"Hey," he greeted, "You're not going home?"

Blossom shook her head, pushing a strand of hair from her grey eyes; "My parents go to Aruba every year for the month of December. They never take me. If I weren't here, I'd be at home with a babysitter."

"Oh," Dean commented, thinking of nothing else to say.

"That's okay though," Blossom told him, smiling, "Clementine and Sophie are staying too."

Dean nodded; recalling Clementine Adams was a Hufflepuff and Sophie White was a fellow Gryffindor, a second-year.

The two walked without talking for a while, simply enjoying the unseasonably pleasant weather and each other's company.

When they reached the entryway, Blossom paused, "I'm gonna go see Clem. Have a good Christmas if I don't see you before you leave."

Dean nodded, blushing ever so slightly, "You too."

Blossom smiled and turned, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff dormitories.

Dean continued on his way to the Gryffindor tower, absentmindedly muttering the password, "Fruitcake" and stepping into the common room.

It was deserted.

Sighing, Dean sat down in one of the big, red chairs and stared at the cold fireplace for a long moment.

He thought about Fred and George's offer to come for a visit. It was very tempting. Although John made sure he and Sam never wanted for anything, Christmas in the Winchester household was a quiet affair.

On Christmas Eve, the brothers were allowed to open one present each, which was always a new pair of pajamas to sleep in. They would all cram onto the old sofa in the living room, listen to the radio playing carols well into the night, drinking hot cocoa and eating marshmallows roasted in the stove.

Then it was time for bed. Dean and Sam knew there was no such person as Father Christmas- or Santa Claus- and so they did not wait with bated breath for the sounds of tiny reindeer hooves on the roof, promptly falling asleep.

Christmas Day dawned early- who wouldn't be excited for gifts- starting with a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, prepared by Ms. Gibbons who always spent the holiday with them, before moving onto the colourful boxes beneath the tree. Afterwards, Dean and Sam would play with their new toys for a few hours before lunch was served. Then, more time to play.

Dinner was never as grand as what was served at Hogwarts. A single turkey or a goose sufficed. Sides consisted of mashed potatoes with gravy, chipolatas, Brussel sprouts, parsnips and carrots, bread sauce, and cranberry sauce. Dessert was always plum pudding with cream for the boys and rum sauce for Ms. Gibbons and John.

Dean loved spending Christmas with his small family. It was cozy and relaxing. But he wondered what it would be like to have a house full of siblings, everyone rushing around, loud and excited for the food and fun that came with the holiday. If Fred and George's other siblings were anything like the twins, Dean could only imagine the Weasley household at Christmastime.

Stretching, Dean glanced at the old grandfather clock standing in a corner of the room, beside of the bookshelves and started. He was late for lunch! He hadn't realized he'd daydreamed the morning away.

Standing, he stretched and headed out of the common room, his stomach growling in anticipation for the meal ahead.

W

"DEAN!"

The eleven-year-old had just stepped out of the Great Hall, full from lunch and looking to pack his trunk for the trip home when a familiar voice shouted his name from the Entrance Hall.

"Sammy!" Dean called and his brother ran towards him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I missed you," Sam told him, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against his brother's chest.

"Missed you too, Sammy," Dean murmured and pulled his brother back. Some of the other students were watching.

"I'm taller since you last saw me," his brother informed him, beaming proudly.

"No way," Dean argued.

"I am! I grew an inch," Sam insisted, "Ms. Gibbons told me so."

Dean looked over his brother's head at the elderly witch standing by the front doors. He smiled. She lifted a hand in a wave.

"I still have to pack," he told them.

"Can I come up with you? I wanna see Gryffindor dormitory," Sam asked, looking at his brother to Ms. Gibbons.

"Let's wait for Dean down here, Sam," she held her hand out towards the boy.

Sam looked a bit disappointed but obeyed the woman and returned to her side but would not hold her hand.

"I won't be long," Dean promised and dashed up the stone staircase to the portrait of the fat lady.

"Fruitcake," he told her breathlessly and she swung open with a long-suffering sigh to reveal the common room.

Hurrying to his dormitory, Dean didn't so much as pack his belongings as stuff them unceremoniously into his trunk.

With a second's pause to look around and make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he shrugged his jacket on and wrapped his red-and-gold scarf around his neck before grabbing the handle of his trunk and pulled it along behind him.

SPN

Sam had missed Dean a lot. It was really boring with no one to play with. But now that his brother was home for a couple of weeks, things would be better.

As he and Ms. Gibbons waited for Dean to come back downstairs, Sam studied the four large hourglasses that held gems representing the four Hogwarts Houses.

Red for Gryffindor, green for Slytherin, yellow for Hufflepuff and blue for Ravenclaw, Sam thought as he gazed at each one; I hope I get into Gryffindor with Dean.

He paused, considering.

He'd probably be likely to get sorted into Ravenclaw too, since he loved to read and learn so much.

Even Hufflepuff would be all right. Dad said all the students in that House were really nice.

Any House but Slytherin, really. The wizard that had killed their mother had probably been in Slytherin.

"Come along, Sam," Ms. Gibbons' voice brought the seven-year-old from his musings, "We're ready to go."

"What'cha doing Sammy?" Dean asked, "Hufflepuff has the most House Points right now but that won't last."

Ms. Gibbons waved her wand and Dean's heavy trunk lifted into the air as though it were as light as a feather.

The eleven-year-old stared, "I thought there was no magic inside the school grounds."

The old witch smiled, "Only for students."

Dean embarrassed that he had forgotten something so simple- of course, the adults had to be able to do magic, how else would his professors teach- he nodded and grabbed the handle of his trunk, pulling it along easily behind him.

Sam giggled, hands hiding his mouth.

"Yeah, keep laughing Short Stuff," Dean muttered.

"Dean!" Ms. Gibbons snapped, "I heard that."

"I was just kidding," he told her.

Then, quietly to his brother, "You know I was joking, right?"

Sam nodded.

"When's Dad coming home?" the younger brother asked.

"Tonight or tomorrow morning," Dean told him, "Whenever he finishes cleaning."

"Okay," Sam commented, following his brother and tutor onto the grounds of the school.

SPN

John arrived just as the boys were getting into bed. Tired, but happy to have a bit of a break ahead of him, the father collapsed into a kitchen chair.

"Can I make you a hot drink, John?" Temple asked and he nodded, "That'd be great."

His black hair was dusted with snowflakes and his cheeks were red from the cold. Peeling off his coat, and toeing off his boots, John sighed as Ms. Gibbons handed him a mug of coffee.

"Thanks," he muttered to her before taking a sip.

"How were the boys?" he asked.

"Dean's been regaling his brother with tales of his adventures at school all afternoon," Temple told him with a smile, "Sam's so looking forward to going."

John nodded, his smile fading somewhat.

"John," Temple looked him in the eye, "We don't know yet. Sam might surprise us."

The corners of the father's mouth lifted up slightly, but not really into a smile, more like a grimace than anything. He knew he shouldn't be worrying about this right now; not with it almost being Christmas, and with three years yet to go before his youngest turned eleven. Anything could happen in that time.

The sound of quiet footsteps from above drew that adults' attention to the rickety staircase and John saw his oldest son peering at them from the top of the stairs.

"Hey Dad," Dean greeted quietly.

"Dean," John said, "What's up?"

"I was wondering…" the eleven-year-old paused, "Actually, my friends were wondering if we could come to their house for a visit over the Christmas break."

"Which friends?" John asked.

"Fred and George Weasley."

"Hm," John repeated. He knew of the Weasleys or their children at least. He had been the caretaker at Hogwarts when both Bill and Charlie attended. He knew Percy Weasley because the boy made himself known to all the staff, figuring himself to be magnanimous and a role model for other pureblood students.

"I don't know, Dean," John told him, "I don't know where they live, I've never met their parents…"

"Arthur and Molly Weasley are lovely people," Temple interrupted, "He works at the Ministry and she is a homemaker. You couldn't find a nicer couple."

"Let me think about it, all right, Dean?" John told his son.

Dean frowned, "That means no."

"I didn't say that," John argued, "But I need to think about this before we visit people we've never met."

The eleven-year-old opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it and nodded, "Okay, but you will think about it, right?"

John nodded.

Dean turned and went back to his room.

John turned his gaze on Temple.

"Yes?" she asked innocently.

"I don't know these people," John told her.

"They're not Dark Wizards, John," Temple argued, "And you know their sons."

"That's not the same," he muttered.

"Why not? Can you not tell a parent by how they have raised their son or daughter?"

John didn't say anything for a long moment.

"They've all been in Gryffindor."

"That's my point," Temple smiled, "They are good people."

"Those two boys have been good friends to Dean," John agreed.

"Then there's nothing to think about," Ms. Gibbons told him and took a sip of her tea.

SPN

Sam woke with the dawn. The early morning was chilly and he shivered when he set his bare feet onto the worn planks that made up his bedroom's floor.

Hopping and skipping over to his dresser, the seven-year-old pulled the drawers open quickly, grabbing his clothes before returning to his bed and jumping onto the mattress. Taking off his flannel pajamas, he replaced them with a pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt with a navy blue sweatshirt over it and hand-knitted socks that Ms. Gibbons had made.

Cupping his hands around his mouth and breathing on them, Sam padded out of his room and down the hallway. He glanced over to his brother's room but then decided not to wake Dean, instead choosing to head downstairs to wait for him.

The fire in the stove had burned down to nothing but coals. Grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the drawer in the tiny kitchen, Sam opened the stove's heavy cast iron door and shoved a couple of pieces of wood inside. Peering into the metal bin, Sam saw that they were almost out of wood and they would need to go outside and bring more inside.

As the cordwood burned and warmed the cottage's kitchen and den, Sam climbed onto one of the chairs at the table and cut a large chunk of fruitcake from the loaf sitting out with a butter knife he had taken from the silverware drawer.

Sitting back and munch away at the sticky cake, Sam listened to the sounds in the cottage; the crackle and pop of logs in the stove, the groan, and creak of ancient planks shrinking and expanding, the scratching of mice in the walls, the moaning of the wind across the roof.

Lulled by the familiar and comforting sounds and the sugary fruitcake, Sam didn't even hear as his brother crept down the staircase.

"Sam," Dean's quiet voice startled the boy and he dropped his piece of cake on the floor. He was standing right beside his younger brother, his hair sticking up in spikes from sleeping on it, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a blue, white and grey plaid button-down shirt.

"Dean!" Sam gasped and ducked down to fetch the fallen morsel.

"How long have you been up?" the eleven-year-old asked, watching as Sam picked bits of debris off the fruitcake before pushing it into his mouth.

"A bit," the younger boy replied around a full mouth.

"Is Dad home?" Sam asked, swallowing the cake. Dean sat down in the chair beside him and cut himself a slice of fruitcake. He didn't really like it but it was better than Ms. Gibbons' oatmeal for breakfast.

Dean nodded, "He got in last night."

Sam traced a knot in the wooden table with a fingertip.

It was the twenty-second of December. There were only ten before Dean would return to Hogwarts, starting the second semester on Tuesday, January first. It seemed hardly enough time to spend with his brother before he'd leave again.

"Do you have to go back to school?" Sam asked. He knew he was being a baby but he couldn't help it. He had really missed his brother.

"I do," Dean said, "But then we'll have two whole months to spend together."

Sam shrugged.

"And before you know it, you'll be going to Hogwarts too," Dean added.

"I don't know, Dean," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" the older boy asked.

"What if I'm not a wizard? What if I'm…" Sam hesitated, "What if I'm like Dad?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell his brother that he was being dumb and that he was just a late bloomer- like he always did when Sam worried- but then changed his mind.

"You know what? Maybe you're overthinking this too much. Maybe you've gotten yourself so nervous about doing magic and possibly being a Squib that you're preventing yourself from doing magic," Dean told him.

Sam looked confused.

"You keep thinking you can't do magic and so you won't," Dean tried to explain.

The eleven-year-old sighed, "Look, Sammy, just… believe in yourself. If you tell yourself you can do magic than you'll be able to do it."

Fumbling for words, Dean thought to something Professor McGonagall had taught her students the first day of Transfigurations.

"Stand up," Dean ordered and Sam slid off the chair.

"Close your eyes."

Sam did so.

"Relax your shoulders," Dean instructed, "And then your arms, all the way down to your fingers."

"Relax your legs, bend your knees if you have to," Dean continued, "All the way to your toes."

Glancing down, Dean saw Sam wiggling his toes in his socks.

"Good, now, clear your mind," Dean continued, "Don't think about anything. Feel the floor beneath your feet, the warm air around you. Listen to the sounds around you."

"Okay…" Sam whispered.

"Magic flows easier if you're calm and controlled and relaxed," Dean quoted McGonnagall word-for-word, thinking of what she said after, that being calm and controlled and relaxed wasn't always possible but for inexperienced witches and wizards, they would be able to recognize their own magic easier and would perform better this way.

"Don't worry about not being able to do magic," Dean told him, "Tell yourself that you can do it and will do it."

Sam opened his eyes, "I'll try."

His brother smiled, "Good."

Footsteps overhead alerted the boys that their father was awake. Dean crammed the last bit of fruitcake into his mouth and plopped down in front of the stove, savouring the warmth flowing out from it.

Sam sat down beside his brother, telling himself that he was a wizard and that he just had to be patient. He was sure not all wizards showed their magical ability before the age of seven and that there just had to be ones whose talent appeared later.

John climbed down the stairs, dressed in jeans and an olive green cable-knit sweater that had been a gift from Ms. Gibbons last Christmas.

"You could have woken me up, you know," he told his sons.

Dean shrugged, "You looked tired last night."

John nodded and started getting the coffee ready. Spying the fruitcake on the table that looked suspiciously smaller than it had the night before, he smiled.

"You two tired of oatmeal as well?"

Sam blushed but Dean spoke, "I don't think I've eaten oatmeal since I went to school. I can't stand it."

"Don't you tell Ms. Gibbons that," John warned, "You'll just upset her."

"Okay," Dean muttered.

"Dad," he spoke up again, "Have you thought about what I said last night?"

John turned towards his sons.

"I did," he said slowly.

"And?" Dean pressed, hopeful.

Sam looked at his brother, wondering what this conversation was about.

"As long as it's all right with their parents," John told him, "Then it's fine."

"YES!" Dean jumped up and ran to his father, hugging him.

"I'm gonna write to Fred and George right now and let them know!" he exclaimed and ran upstairs before his father could say anything else, Sam hurrying after him, firing questions at the back of his head.

SPN

John sat alone at the kitchen table, mug of coffee cupped in his hands. He could hear his sons overhead- in Dean's room- talking excitedly and laughing.

Although John was comfortable and familiar with many of his neighbours in Hogsmeade and the staff at Hogwarts, he had never met wizards outside of these two locales, other than the children who attended the school where he worked.

He knew that not all wizards were evil, like the Dark Wizard who had murdered his wife, but he found that once it was discovered he was a Squib, they changed how they interacted with him.

The conversation would grind to a halt; looks of pity or sympathy would enter their eyes, and he would once again be reminded that although he lived in the Wizarding World he was in fact, not one of them. That he was an outsider and no matter what he did it would always be that way because unlike his friends and neighours, he was born with the inability to perform even the simplest of spells.

He did not want his sons to have the same life he had. It was a good life; he enjoyed what he did and was grateful to Dumbledore for making it possible, but he could not imagine his sons in his position.

For John, who had grown up knowing nothing of magic- his father not being able to tell him about the fantastic world he came from- it tampered some of the feelings of disappointment and betrayal when he'd first been told about magic, only to find out that he could never truly be a part of it.

He didn't have to worry about Dean. From a young age, his eldest son had shown he possessed magic from a very early age. Now Dean was going to one of the best schools for Witchcraft and Wizardry in the world. He had a bright future.

Sam, he was concerned for. He was seven-years-old and he still hadn't shown one bit of magical ability. What if he was a Squib? John knew Sam would be devastated. All he ever wanted was to go to Hogwarts, and since Dean had gotten his letter, nearly a year ago, that wall all his youngest could think about.

John gulped down the hot beverage, burning his throat, but he didn't care.

He wished Mary were still alive to help put both him and Sam at ease.

A quiet rapping at the door drew the father from his thoughts and he stopped up, opening the door for Temple Gibbons.

"Where are the boys?" she asked, removing her white fur coat, beret-style red hat, and black leather gloves.

"Upstairs," John said, taking the coat, gloves, and hat and setting them on a chair in the den, "I told Dean we could go visit the Weasleys."

Temple smiled.

"Tea? Or coffee?" John asked.

"Tea please," she sat down at the kitchen table.

"What made you agree?" she asked.

"I thought about what you said," John told her as he prepared the tea, "They seem like good people. So far all their sons have been sorted into Gryffindor. From what I can remember, the boys were always polite and courteous. I never had trouble from any of them."

Temple nodded as John handed her a mug of tea.

"And… Well, Dean and Sam don't have many friends," John continued, somewhat self-consciously, sitting back down, "So I guess it's a good sign that they want us to visit over the Christmas holiday."

SPN

The Winchesters didn't have an owl of their own, but Ms. Gibbons was more than happy to let them borrow her Western Screech Owl, named Nicodemus, to send letters to the Weasley family.

Within no time, they heard word back from Fred and George, who explained that they would pick them up after Christmas- December twenty-sixth, to be exact- in their father's old Ford Anglia.

John looked nervous as Dean read his friends' letter out loud.

"Their father knows how to drive?"

Dean shrugged, "He must."

John nodded but didn't look placated. Witches and wizards used other means of transportation rather than cars- they could Apparate, use Floo Powder or Portkeys or fly on brooms- so the idea of Mr. Weasley driving up to the cottage in a car seemed very strange.

"Maybe Fred and George told their Dad that you can't do magic," Dean suggested, "And he didn't want you to feel left out."

John didn't reply.

W

On Christmas Eve they decorated their tree. Ms. Gibbons helped by creating thin, silvery strands of tinsel and covering the evergreen's branches with them. Dean and Sam made popcorn garland, eating as much as they threaded onto the strings. An angel that had belonged to John's mother when he was a boy graced the top of the tree. Wearing a white dress trimmed with gold fabric, the angel had porcelain hands and head, her blue eyes looking benevolently down on the small family, her yellow hair flowing down to the middle of her back, partly covering her wings with real white feathers. John couldn't help but think, every time he saw the angel, how much she looked like Mary.

Once the tree was finished, the fresh scent of pine heavy in the air, Sam and Dean sat down on the faded, brown couch on the other side of the den, still snacking on leftover popcorn, while John headed upstairs.

"You two are going to ruin your appetites for marshmallows if you keep eating that popcorn," Ms. Gibbons chided from her chair with a smile.

John entered the den, carrying two shapeless packages wrapped in red-and-green striped paper.

"Merry Christmas," he handed the packages to his sons and took a seat on the last available chair and watched as Sam and Dean opened this year's new set of pajamas.

The tradition had started when Dean had been little, when Mary was still alive, in an attempt to keep their young son from snooping around his presents they would give him a new set of pajamas to open on Christmas Eve.

"Thanks, Dad!" Both boys exclaimed at the same time and hurried up to their rooms to put their pajamas on.

John smiled and leaned forward, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting on the coffee table.

SPN

Dean woke to the warm, bitter scent of brewing coffee mixing with the fresh aroma of pine tree early Christmas day. Lying in bed for a moment, he could hear three voices floating up from the kitchen: his father's deep rumble, Ms. Gibbons' reedy lilt, and Sammy's excited jabbering.

I can't believe I slept in! Dean thought as he sat up and raked a hand through his spiky hair.

Not even bothering to put slippers on, he rushed out of his room and down the stairs, not caring that he was stomping as he did so.

"You didn't wake me!" Dean complained as he stepped into the kitchen.

"We haven't been up long," John told him, "Sam wanted to get you up but I told him to wait. It was my fault."

"You know we wouldn't open presents without you," Ms. Gibbons reminded him, "Now, have some oatmeal while it's hot."

Dean took a seat beside his brother, already stirring sugar and cinnamon into his own bowl of porridge.

Unlike his brother, who picked at his oatmeal slowly, Dean scooped heaping spoonfuls into his mouth as fast as he could, eager to unwrap his gifts.

W

Finally, breakfast was over and they all moved into the den, Dean's eyes lighting up at the sight of the brightly wrapped presents underneath the tree.

Instead of simply diving in, the boys sat cross-legged in front of the pile, handing out boxes and bags in an orderly, mature way.

The first gift was Dean's. He knew what it was right away, how could he not? It was a bit difficult to wrap a broomstick in a way that disguised it.

Tearing open the paper, Dean smiled when a brand new broom rolled out. Its handle was made of lightweight pine, polished to a shine, the straws that made up its tail perfectly straight.

"A Cleansweep Three," he breathed. Although it wasn't a top-of-the-line broomstick, it was one of the most affordable and reliable. Not as speedy as some other brooms, it was hardy and not likely to buck or jerk underneath a rider. Much better than the old Shooting Star he had- a kid's broom that only flew high enough for his toes to just brush the grass of the lawn- and completely acceptable for a less experienced rider.

"Thanks, Dad," Dean grinned at his father and set his broomstick on the ground beside him.

The next gift was handed to Sam, a heavy, bulky box that turned out to be a set of Encyclopedia Magica books.

"Cool," Sam pulled one of the tomes from their black velvet-lined box and flipped it open. The set contained information on everything and anything magical, like a Muggle encyclopedia for the mundane, but better. Sam peered at the moving pictures inserted into the pages and smiled.

"You can read later, Short Stuff," Dean gently pulled the book from his brother's hands, "There's still more presents to open."

SPN

After lunch, Sam and Dean ran outside, the older brother with his new Cleansweep and the younger gripping the handle of his sibling's old Shooting Star.

"Stay in the yard Dean!" John called from the doorway, "And don't go too high!"

"Okay!" Dean called back, holding his broom between his legs, bracing his knees and pushing off until he was six feet above the ground.

"Whoa," Sam stared up at his brother and climbed onto his hand-me-down broom.

The Shooting Star only rose high enough for the tips of Sam's boots to brush the snow.

"Race you around the house?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, shooting off around the corner before the younger boy was ready.

"Hey, no fair! I wasn't ready!" the seven-year-old called after him as the Shooting Star made its way sedately around the same corner, no match even for a Cleansweep Three.

"Hurry up, Sammy!" Dean shouted from behind the cottage.

SPN

The remains of Christmas dinner lay scattered around the table, defeated.

As the Winchesters stood up, Ms. Gibbons took out her wand and waved it, making the food scraps vanish and the plates and cutlery pile up neatly beside the sink. With another wave, the sink began to fill with water from the tap, the bottle of soap squirted yellow liquid into the rising water and a sponge began cleaning pots and pans and glasses and plates.

"You boys should pack your things," John told his sons as they walked into the den, stepping over unwrapped presents scattered across the floorboards, "I don't know what time to expect the Weasleys."

"Okay," Dean agreed, "C'mon Sammy."

Grabbing his new encyclopedia, the seven-year-old followed his brother upstairs to get ready for the next day's trip.

SPN

"I hope this is a good idea, Temple," John fretted, carefully moving presents out of the way and back underneath the tree.

"Dean trusts them," Ms. Gibbons reminded John, "And you know your boys are good judges of character."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," the father commented, "It's just…"

"You're afraid you won't be welcome," the elderly witch stated and John nodded.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, John," Temple reached down and patted his hand, smiling encouragingly.

John smiled back but he still felt apprehensive about this visit. He just hoped this didn't ruin his son's friendship with the Weasley twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment if you are enjoying this story!


	6. Sam's Magic

Dean woke with the sun the day after Christmas. He couldn't help it; he was excited to see his friends and meet the rest of the Weasley family.

Pulling on a pair of jeans and a red sweater that Ms Gibbons had knitted for him, Dean headed straight to his brother's bedroom.

The younger boy was sound asleep as Dean pushed his bedroom door open, an old blue teddy bear tucked under his arm.

Dean padded across the floor and shook his brother's shoulder.

"Hey, Sammy," he whispered, "Wake up."

The younger boy opened his hazel eyes blearily and blinked.

"What time is it?" the seven-year-old asked sleepily.

"Early," Dean told him, "But I couldn't wait anymore."

The younger boy sat up and stretched. His teddy bear fell off the bed but Dean bent down to pick it up and put it on his brother's pillow.

Sam shoved the toy beneath the pillow, blushing a little from embarrassment. He knew he was too old for stuffed animals.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Get dressed," Dean told him, "I'll wake Dad."

Sam nodded and got out of bed, yanking the blankets up over the mattress messily before heading to his chest of drawers.

W

Dean walked down the hallway, past the linen closet and bathroom, to his father's bedroom. The door was closed tightly and Dean felt a sudden nervous tingle in his belly. Although John had never forbidden the boys from coming into his room- when Sam and Dean were little they would often climb into bed with him early in the morning- but the closed door was a clear sign that he wanted his privacy.

Taking a breath and telling himself not to be stupid, Dean knocked on the door lightly.

There was no sound from within the room so Dean knocked a little louder and called his Dad's name.

Again, there was no response from within the room. John was known to be a heavy sleeper.

Deciding maybe he should just wait until his Dad woke up on his own, Dean turned to head back to his brother's room when the door opened.

John stood in the doorway, hair sticking up, face puffy with sleep, and dressed in a grey t-shirt and blue flannel pyjama bottoms.

"What's wrong?" the father asked, his expression concerned.

"Nothing," Dean answered, now feeling like he should have left well enough alone.

"I just…" Dean hesitated, trying to think of some excuse that wouldn't get him into trouble for waking his Dad so early in the morning.

"Dad!" Sam called from the other end of the hall and ran forward, "Can we have breakfast now?"

John nodded, "All right, just let me get dressed."

The brothers headed downstairs while they waited for their father to get changed.

SPN

Sam was excited to meet the Weasleys. Although there were families in Hogsmeade, the Winchesters were not close to any of them. They were pleasant enough but kept to themselves, and their children were either too young or too old for the brothers to play with.

Dean really was Sam's only friend and that just wasn't right. Now that his older sibling was spending most of his time in school, Sam would need a friend his own age.

The seven-year-old wondered what Ron Weasley was like. Did he like to read? Did he play wizard's chess? Was he afraid of clowns too?

Dean fed cordwood into the stove to stoke the flames before grabbing a couple of bowl from the cupboard and proceeding to scoop two heaping spoonfuls of leftover plum pudding into them. Handing one to his brother, Dean began shovelling the sickly sweet pudding into his mouth as fast as he could.

Sam used his spoon to cut the pudding into small pieces, thinking.

"What's on your mind, Squirt?" Dean asked through a mouthful of dessert-for-breakfast.

The younger boy shrugged but smiled.

"Okay," Dean muttered, "Keep your secrets."

"But eat that before Dad comes down and makes us toast or something boring like that."

Sam shook his head but his plum pudding.

Just as the boys were scraping the bottoms of their bowls, John entered the kitchen.

"Really, Dean?" he asked before getting the coffee ready.

"We can't let it go to waste," the eleven-year-old replied innocently.

John peered at the remains of the plum pudding and grabbed a spoon for himself, "I guess you're right."

SPN

The unmistakable rumble of a car engine grew louder and louder up the narrow street where the Winchesters lived before abruptly cutting off.

John stood up and peered through the front window, seeing a Ford Anglia the colour of a robin's egg parked right outside their garden gage.

"Boys, get your things," he told his sons, "They're here."

Sam and Dean both took off running upstairs, their feet pounding on the old boards that made up the steps.

While he waited for his sons, John pulled on his boots and winter coat, stuffing his toque and gloves into his pockets, he stepped outside and onto the path that led from his front steps to the road.

The car doors opened and the Weasleys' twin boys jumped out, running up the path, past John and into the house. Their father approached the cottage at a more sedate pace. Like his sons, he was tall and thin, almost wiry, but his red hair was thinning, unlike his children's. His blue eyes sat above a long, narrow nose and a gently smiling mouth.

"Arthur Weasley," he introduced himself and held out a hand.

John offered the wizard his own hand and they shook, "John Winchester."

Looking over John's shoulder towards the cottage, Mr Weasley grimaced slightly.

"Sorry about Fred and George. They're just excited. They're harmless, really."

John smiled slightly.

Trying to think of something to say, he turned his attention to the car the Weasleys had driven up in.

"Nineteen fifty-nine model?" John asked as he took in the vehicle. It looked like a regular Ford Anglia, maybe a bit wider than normal, but otherwise, it appeared average.

Mr Weasley nodded, "It is. I've had it for a long time; since before my children were born."

"Where did you get it?" John asked. Cars were unheard of in the wizarding world, where other modes of transportation were much faster than driving a several-hundred-pound box of metal from Point A to Point B.

"Bought it off a muggle," Arthur told him, "I saw it and couldn't say no."

John nodded, thinking of his own beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He had left it with Mike Guenther in Lawrence, Kansas nearly eight years ago. Mike, who had owned a repair shop with John, had always wanted the slick black Chevy. After Mary's death, John had not waited around, taking Albus Dumbledore up on his offer quickly and leaving everything behind him within a week of the tragedy, even his car. He wondered if his former partner still had it.

"But I added some special touches to it," Arthur told him, drawing John from his own thoughts.

"Huh?" he asked.

"It can fit my entire family," Arthur continued as if John had been listening the entire time, "Nine plus everything needed for school. And…"

The wizard paused smiling rather conspiratorially, as he opened the driver's side door and pointed to a small silver button on the Anglia's dashboard between the glove box and radio.

"This little button."

John just stared at him. Arthur must have expected him to know what it was.

"It's an Invisibility Booster," he offered.

"Oh," John replied, knowing he was supposed to be impressed, "That's… uh… fantastic."

Arthur nodded, clearly very proud of himself, "So no Muggles can see us while we're flying."

"Flying?" John asked.

"The car flies too," the wizard informed him, "Not as fast as Apparating or Floo Powder of course, but it's handy when we're all going to the train station."

"Dad!" Fred's voice cut through the conversation, startling both men who had not noticed their sons had left the house, " Mr Winchester's not a wizard, remember? He's not gonna get everything!"

"You're just gonna give him a headache!" George added.

While Dean and Sam carried their own pieces of luggage, the twins had John's between them, lugging it forward.

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur exclaimed, his cheeks turning red but not from the cold, "I'd forgotten! Let me explain-"

John held a hand up, embarrassed for the both of them.

"That's all right, Arthur."

"Open the boot, Dad," Fred called to Mr Weasley and Arthur reached into the car again to unlock the vehicle's trunk.

The three older boys dumped the pieces of luggage into the Anglia's spacious trunk and closed the lid before piling in the backseat of the vehicle. Sam clambered in beside his brother, grinning from ear to ear.

John peered at Arthur from over the roof of the Anglia.

"How long will it take to get to your house?" he asked.

Mr Weasley grinned, "Around five hours or so."

John just grimaced somewhat queasily. He wasn't sure he would survive that long locked in a car with the Muggle-obsessed wizard.

Climbing into the passenger's side, John peered over his shoulder at his sons as Arthur started the Ford Anglia's engine.

"You boys all right?" he asked.

Dean nodded vigorously, sitting comfortably between Fred- or was it George- and Sam.

"Sam?" the father asked, thinking of his youngest's motion sickness every time they used a Portkey.

The seven-year old's hazel eyes sparkled and he gave his Dad a thumbs up.

The old car started rolling forward. John peered ahead through the windshield.

"I thought you said we were flying this thing to Devon," John commented to the wizard.

Arthur, his brow furrowed in concentration, nodded.

"We will," he assured John, "But we need to gain speed, similar to an… what are those things called that Muggles fly in… ah, yes, an aeroplane."

John looked out again to the dirt road that ran through the centre of Hogsmeade, wondering if they had enough room to take off.

Since it was the day after Christmas, the streets in the village were deserted, so they didn't have to worry about running over pedestrians. Arthur pressed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car increased its speed until it the cottages and shops were a blur as they rushed past. John, his heart pounding nervously, reached out and put both hands on the dashboard.

Mr Weasley pulled up on the steering wheel and car's front tyres left the snow-packed ground, quickly followed by its rear tyres and moments later they were airborne, steadily going higher and higher.

The vehicle shuddered slightly as it gained altitude but then levelled out, flying smoothly, the roofs of the cottages growing smaller and smaller as they rose higher into the air.

"This is fun, no?" Arthur chuckled, glancing at John.

John, who hadn't flown anywhere since he'd returned to the United States after a tour of duty in Vietnam as a young man, nodded mutely.

"Look Dad! There's Hogwarts!" Sam cried from the back seat, pointing out the window at the castle that served as the United Kingdom's premier school of witchcraft and wizardry.

"I see it," John commented, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon, not even peering past their driver to get a glimpse of the school.

"All right," Arthur spoke, "time to put this on."

He pressed the silver button on the dashboard and the car vanished from around them. The passengers also disappeared. John's stomach gave an unhappy lurch; he could feel the leather-bound seat beneath him but couldn't see his hands, his leg, anything. Glancing around, he couldn't see Arthur behind the wheel or his sons in the back seat. It felt as though he were floating in space even though he knew he wasn't.

"Woah," Dean breathed from behind him, "This is so cool."

He heard Arthur chuckle from beside him.

"All right, Mr Winchester?" Fred- or George- asked him.

"Uh…" he had to think of how to answer when Arthur spoke up.

"It can be a bit of an odd sensation at first," he told him, "But you'll get used to it."

"I hope so," John muttered.

To take his mind off being invisible, Arthur engaged him in conversation, asking him about life in the Muggle world, wanting to know about things such as the postal service, the government and televisions worked.

John was only happy to answer all Mr Weasley's questions in detail, glad to have something to take his mind off flying.

SPN

Hours passed without Sam noticing. He was too absorbed in his brother and the twins' conversation to think about the long journey to the Weasley homestead.

"We're almost there," Mr Weasley announced and turned off the car's invisibility booster. With a soft popping sound, the car and its passengers became visible once more.

Sam peered out the window, eager to see where the Weasleys' lived first.

"There it is!" George- or Fred- called and pointed to a tall building on the outskirts of the town of Ottery St Catchpole.

The Weasleys' home, lovingly referred to as The Burrow, was the most eclectic dwelling the seven-year-old had ever seen. Several stories high, it leaned comically to one side, each addition completely unique so that it looked as though it had had several different owners over various periods with distinct architectural preferences. An old barn stood nearby, looking unused.

Now, Mr Weasley directed the Ford Anglia towards the barn and began easing the vehicle slowly lower, just like a pilot steering a plane.

Moments later the car bumped sharply against the snowy ground and Arthur drove into the barn. Turning off the engine, the wizard smiled at John.

"Not bad, eh?"

Sam was already scrambling out of the car behind his brother and the twins and didn't hear his father's reply.

Arthur popped the lid on the boot and Fred, George and Dean pulled the luggage out.

"Sam, zip your coat up," John instructed, stretching as he stepped out of the car, "We still have a bit of a walk."

"But Dad-" the boy whined; not yet feeling the chill of the air in the relative shelter of the barn.

"This used to be a pigpen," Arthur explained, "Muggles don't go near it since it's nearly falling apart. The car's well hidden here."

John nodded, paying more attention to his youngest son.

Sam pouted for a moment- his Dad didn't make Dean do up his coat- before doing as John asked.

"Molly should have afternoon tea ready when we arrive," Arthur told them.

"Race you, Dean!" George- or Fred- cried and started off through the door of the barn, dragging the piece of luggage behind him, kicking through drifts of snow as he ran forward. His brother and Dean bolted after him, laughing.

Sam tried to follow his brother and his friends but the snow was too high and he quickly got stuck.

"Wait for me!" he called to the older boys but they didn't hear him.

Feeling a hand on the collar of his jacket, Sam sighed as his father pulled him from a snowdrift and set him on his feet.

"Come on, Sam," John said with a smile, starting through the deep snow and creating a path for the boy to follow.

The seven-year-old forced himself to smile as he walked behind his father, Mr Weasley bringing up the rear.

W

"We're home!" Arthur called to his wife as he stepped through the doorway into the warmth of the Burrow behind John and Sam.

The youngest Winchester stared at the interior of the house in awe. Unlike Ms Gibbons' prim and proper cottage, the Burrow was cluttered, with furniture and people, but much more welcoming.

The entryway opened immediately onto the kitchen. A long wooden table laden with cakes and cookies and pots of tea and coffee greeted them. Along the far wall stood a cast iron stove similar to the one in the Winchesters' cottage, except this one was bigger- and the cordwood sitting beside it fed itself to the flames- a sink and rows of cupboards and drawers for dishes.

Dean, Fred and George were already seated at the table, scarfing down the treats laid out before them.

A short, plump witch, with curly red hair and sharp brown eyes, approached those standing in the doorway.

"How was the trip?" she asked in a soft, sweet voice.

"Excellent," Arthur told her, "The car was a pet."

Molly Weasley gazed at her husband nervously, "No one saw you?"

Mr Weasley shook his head, "I was very careful, dear."

Molly nodded.

"You must be John," she turned to Sam and his father.

John nodded and held out his hand but was drawn into a tight hug instead, making him blush.

"This is Sam," he said once Molly had released him, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Molly peered down at Sam with a smile, "You look hungry."

Sam nodded; he hadn't realized it before but he was starving.

"Have a seat and we'll gather the rest of the family before we tuck in," Mrs Weasley told them, staring pointedly at the twins, each holding cookies in each hand.

John took a seat beside Dean and Sam sat on his father's other side. Mr Weasley sat across from John and poured himself a cup of tea as his wife called the rest of their children to the table.

The first to arrive was Percy. Sam only knew who this was because of Dean's description of the boy, his dark red hair was curly like his mother's but the curls were tighter. He had the same long nose and freckles as his brothers and yet his walked with an air of importance about him, even in the family home.

"Mr Winchester," Percy greeted formally, "Having a nice Christmas holiday?"

John nodded, "I am. And yourself?"

"Very much so," the boy answered before he picked up a scone and began spreading marmalade on it.

Bill was the next to arrive. He was introduced to the Winchesters despite the look of recognition in John's eyes.

He had the same physical features as the rest of the family, but his red hair was long and pulled into a ponytail. A single earring with a small fang dangled from his ear. He wore tight blue jeans, black biker boots and a denim jacket over a t-shirt for a band called The Ogres.

Bill took a seat beside Percy and grinned at John.

"Hey, Mr W! How've you been?" he asked.

Ginny Weasley strode into the kitchen in a manner similar to that of her older brother, Percy. Her red hair was worn in a long mane and she had the same brown eyes as her mother. Although only six-years-old, the only daughter in the Weasley family was clearly not overshadowed by her brothers. She sat down beside her eldest brother, peering openly and curiously at the Winchesters.

"Ron!" Molly called up the rickety staircase in an exasperated tone, "Ron!"

"Do you want me to fetch him?" Arthur asked from the table.

Molly ignored him and shouted again, "Ronald Weasley!"

Moments later the boy appeared, his face as red as his hair. He hurried past his mother and sat down beside Sam.

The youngest Winchester peered at the boy from the corner of his eye. Besides his red hair, Ron had large freckles on his face, blue eyes, a long nose and big hands and feet. Like Fred and George, Ron started eating right away, shoving a treacle tart into his mouth before his mother had even sat down at the table.

"Boys," Arthur Weasley eyed the twins and Ron, "Manners."

Fred swallowed a mouthful of food while George set a half-eaten scone onto his plate, both twins looking sheepishly at their father. Ron waited impatiently for Molly to join them at the table, cheeks bulging with treacle tart.

Mrs Weasley took the last available seat and smiled, "There we are."

The Weasley children waited until she had poured herself a cup of tea and picked up a croissant before they dug into the treats, all talking at once, voices raised to be heard over one another.

Sam grabbed a piece of toast and smeared a thick layer of orange marmalade onto it, nibbling at a corner while he tried to think of how to talk to the boy sitting beside him.

"Do you play chess?" Ronald Weasley asked through a mouthful of tart, picking up another one before he'd even finished the first.

Sam relaxed somewhat; glad he wasn't the one to have to try and think of conversation.

"I do," he told Ronald, "I play with my brother but-"

"I'm the best chess player in the family," the red-headed boy interrupted, "I'm even better than Dad and he's the one who taught me how to play."

Sam nodded and took a large bite of toast.

"Who's your favourite Quidditch team?" Ronald asked, "I like the Chudley Cannons."

"Oh… um…" Sam hesitated. He didn't really follow any Quidditch teams, "The Falmouth Falcons?"

The other boy shook his head, a look of distaste on his face, "They're a bunch of bullies."

Sam glanced down at his plate as though the toast crumbs and smears of marmalade would give him something to talk about.

"Do you like to read?" he asked Ron.

"Not really," the other boy replied, "It's pretty boring."

Sam sighed and picked up another piece of toast. Spreading gooseberry jam on it, he listened to his father and Mr Weasley talking about the Muggle world; Sam's Dad explaining electric heating to the wizard.

"We should really take a leaf out of the Muggles' book," Arthur was saying, "Some of their inventions are absolutely spectacular."

"You're so lucky you live in Hogsmeade."

Sam turned to look at Ron, "Huh?"

"Hogsmeade," the red-haired boy repeated, "That's so cool you get to live there."

Sam smiled, shrugging a little.

"Is it true there are only wizards there? No Muggles?" Ron asked, picking up an iced sugar cookie in the shape of a pine tree and breaking it in half.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

Ron's expression turned jealous, "Wish we could live in Hogsmeade."

"What's wrong with living here?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," the other boy replied, shoving one half of the cookie into his mouth, "Much. But we need to be careful the Muggles don't see us using magic."

This intrigued Sam, "You do magic?"

Ron, chewing his cookie, nodded, "We fly around the clearing by the house and Mum usually gets us to de-gnome the garden in the summer."

"So… you can do magic?" Sam asked, looking down at his plate.

"Yup," Ron replied proudly, "I was four when Mum and Dad knew I was a wizard."

Sam forced himself to smile.

"How about you?" the question he had been dreading was asked next.

"Oh, um…yeah… me too," Sam muttered unconvincingly and concentrated on his food.

W

"Don't go wandering too far," Mrs Weasley warned her younger children and the two Winchester brothers as Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Dean and Sam dressed in their outdoor clothes, "And stay away from the pond, the ice is thin."

"Okay, Mum!" George called as he led the way out the door; the other children following close behind.

"Snowball fight?" Fred wondered out loud as the front door to the Burrow slammed shut behind the children.

Dean and George nodded eagerly. Fred turned to his younger brother, sister and Sam.

"How about the three of us against you?" the twin suggested in a way that didn't sound as though he wasn't going to accept anything else.

Sam looked at Dean, wanting to tell him that it wasn't fair to have all the eleven-year-olds on one team when he was caught in the face by a snowball.

Ron and Ginny, who didn't appear to mind the advantage Fred and George had over them, squealed and ran across the yard, Sam following after them a moment later, wiping water from his face.

"And no magic!" Fred shouted after the younger children.

Ron, Ginny and Sam dived behind a snow bank, quickly forming snowballs with their mitted hands, already rosy-cheeked from the wind.

Ginny peaked over the top of their hiding spot, turning to Sam and Ron hissing, "Faster!"

Sam chanced a glance at his brother and the twins and saw that the older boys already had a pile of two dozen snowballs ready to go.

A bomb made of snow exploded inches from where Sam sat and he ducked down.

"We're out of time," he breathed and grabbed a snowball and lobbed it over the snow bank without looking.

"Ron," Ginny addressed her older brother in a bossy tone that sounded remarkably like Mrs Weasley, "Keep making snowballs."

The girl chose a ball of her own and after taking a quick look over the bank, tossed the projectile.

Suddenly, one, two, three, five and more snowballs were raining down on them relentlessly.

Sam, Ron and Ginny covered their heads, ducking low to the ground.

"Fred said no magic!" Ron growled, "That cheating-"

Something much heavier than a snowball crashed down in front of the children, spraying them all with snow.

"George!" Ginny shrieked and dove out of his way.

Her older brother, laughing like a loon, scooped handfuls of snow and started throwing them at her.

Ron, laughing too, threw the snowball in his hand at George. Moments later, they were joined by Fred and Dean, both boys tossing snowballs like confetti.

The three younger children, laughing uncontrollably, stood and ran away from their siblings, dashing across the yard and kicking up snow in their wake.

Ron, running behind Sam and Ginny, tripped and fell, only to be set upon by Fred and George, who started burying him in the snow. Dean continued to chase his brother and the Weasley's only daughter, quickly closing the distance between them.

Sam, following Ginny and not fully aware of his surroundings, felt his feet sliding out from underneath him as a thin layer of snow shifted to reveal the pond which Mrs Weasley had warned them to stay away from.

"Ginny!" Sam called and slid to a halt. The girl peered over her shoulder and gasped, her feet flying out from underneath her and she crashed onto her back on the ice.

Sam didn't move. Over the sounds of the others, he could hear an ominous crackling sound coming from the ice under his feet.

"Are you okay?" he called to the girl as Ginny sat up on her elbows, her face bright red.

Nodding, Ginny made to stand but Sam cried fearfully when he saw large cracks crisscrossing the ice beneath her.

"Sam!" Dean shouted his name from behind him and the seven-year-old held a hand out to stop his brother from approaching.

"Don't come any closer!" he shouted back to Dean, not taking his eyes off Ginny.

They needed to get off the ice but any sudden movements were likely to break it and plunge them into the chilly water. Sam bit his lip and began to lower himself down. He had read that you could get off dangerous ice by crawling across it.

Ginny watched Sam nervously. He was sitting up on his knees, the cold going through his jeans, and was about to lower his hands when a loud cracking sound startled him.

Ginny screamed as the ice beneath her gave under her weight and she started to fall into the freezing pond.

Without thinking, Sam threw one hand out, even though he was too far from the girl to grab her, and watched in shock as an invisible force pushed the Ginny across the ice and into the snow at the side of the pond.

The seven-year-old stared at the redhead; her shocked expression mirroring his before the ice underneath him broke and he fell into the pond.

SPN

"I told you not to go near the pond."

Dean heard Mrs Weasley chiding her four youngest children as he and John sat beside the cot Mr Weasley had summoned up in front of the fireplace. Sam lay beneath a half-dozen quilts, quiet and still.

"We didn't do it on purpose, Mum," Ginny told Mrs Weasley brazenly, "We were playing and Sam and I just ran onto the ice before we knew it."

Molly Weasley didn't say anything for a long moment and Dean could imagine her looking at her daughter, trying to decide if Ginny was fibbing or not.

"Is Sam going to be okay?" the six-year-old asked.

"Of course," the Weasley matriarch replied in a softer tone, "He just needs a bit of rest."

"He saved me," Ginny said, "He pushed me so I didn't fall through the ice."

"How? You said he wasn't that close to you?" Fred asked.

His sister didn't say anything for a moment and Dean could almost feel her eyes on his brother.

"Magic."

Dean smiled. He had seen what Sam had done. He pushed Ginny to safety without even touching her. If that wasn't magic he didn't know what was.

John, on Sam's other side, his back to the fireplace, had an expression of utter relief on his face. Dean knew how he felt. No longer did they have to worry that Sam was a Squib. Once he turned eleven, he would get his letter to Hogwarts and join his older brother at the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world.

Dean looked up when Mr Weasley stepped up next to him.

"John, why don't you and Dean have some supper with us? Sam just needs to warm up a bit and he'll be fine. We can save him a plate for when he wakes up."

The Winchester patriarch peered down at his youngest son for a moment before nodding and standing. As soon as he had seen Sam go through the ice, Dean had jumped in after him, pulling him back out within minutes. Then, Dean, Fred and George had carried him back to the house while Ron and Ginny ran ahead to tell their parents what had happened. Within a half an hour Sam was cocooned in blankets and sleeping by the fireplace.

Standing, John stepped around the cot his youngest son lay on and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Reluctantly, Dean left Sam's side, even though they were only sitting a few feet away and chose a seat between Fred and George, facing the fireplace so he'd know the instant his brother woke.

SPN

The youngest Winchester was even happier on their journey back to Hogsmeade than he had been to meet the Weasleys. He didn't remember using magic to push Ginny off and ice and to safety, but he had his brother and the girl to tell him what had happened. Upon hearing the news that he was, in fact, a wizard, Sam felt as though his heart would explode with joy. He had been terrified by the fact that he might not have an ounce of magic within him but now those fears had been dashed to pieces.

Now Sam could dream of going to Hogwarts without the tickle of doubt in the back of his mind.

"Tell me again, Dean," Sam asked, "Tell me what happened."

The eleven-year-old rolled his eyes but he smiled, "Sammy, I've already told you a dozen time."

"I know," he replied, "But can't you tell me just one more time?"

"Sam," John said from the front seat beside Mr Weasley, "Wait until we get home, all right?"

Sam blushed. He guessed Fred and George didn't want to listen to Dean retelling, once again, how Sam had used magic to save Ginny from a chilly fall through the ice of the duck pond.

"It's okay, mate," George whispered to Sam, "When Percy did magic for the first time, we didn't hear the end of it for an entire month."

Fred chuckled, "Funny thing is, we never hear the end of it whenever he does anything."

"Oh, Percy!" George cried, imitating his mother's voice, "You're a Prefect!"

"Oh, Percy!" Fred joined in, "You're top of the class!"

"You're a brown-noser!"

"You're a snob!"

"You're-"

"Boys," Mr Weasley warned from behind the driver's seat.

The twins grinned. Dean laughed. Sam hid his mouth behind his hand.

W

"See you at school, Dean!" Fred and George shouted from the backseat of the Ford Anglia as their father prepared to leave, having dropped the Winchesters off at their cottage in Hogsmeade.

Sam stood beside his brother, waving to the twins as John carried their luggage inside.

"Maybe next Christmas holiday we could stay here for a few days!" George called, "All of us!"

Dean laughed as Mr Weasley started the engine and the car began trundling through the snow.

"So, how was it?" Ms Gibbons' voice called from her front step and Sam ran over to her, "Guess what! Guess what I did!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google Maps, it would take ten hours and twenty-one minutes to get from Nairn, Scotland to Devon, England. I cut the time roughly in half when the Winchesters and Weasleys fly to the Burrow using the Ford Anglia.
> 
> Sorry for taking so long to update, my muse was AWOL for a while and although I'm not sure its back- or with my other stories just yet- I feel as though I can continue with this one. Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you're enjoying this story.


	7. Diagon Alley

Eleven-year old Sam Winchester stepped out of the dim, smoke-filled interior of the Leaky Cauldron and into the sunlight and noise of Diagon Alley.

"Where do you want to go first?" Ronald Weasley asked from behind him.

"I want to pick up our books," Sam told his friend, earning him an exasperated look from the red-haired boy.

"I was thinking of Quality Quidditch Supplies," Ron told him.

"Why?" Sam asked, "First years aren't allowed on the teams."

"I just want to-" Ron began but his mother's voice rang out loudly over the chatter of the crowd around them.

"We need to go to Gringotts first of all," Molly told the assembled Weasley and Winchester children, "And then we will get your school supplies."

John Winchester, who was standing with Mr and Mrs Weasley, addressed his eldest son, "Dean, I expect you to watch out for your brother. No wandering off with Fred and George."

The fifteen-year old promised he would keep an eye on his sibling, but from behind his back he held one hand with fingers crossed. He and the twins had been talking of nothing but the joke shop, Gambol and Japes, for weeks when they found out they'd be doing their back-to-school shopping together.

Percy, however, looked more than happy to take on the responsibility of watching his younger brother, sister and Sam Winchester.

"Don't worry Mother," Percy said importantly, "We will all stay here until you return from the bank."

Molly smiled, "Thank you, Percy."

Ron rolled his eyes and Ginny giggled, holding a hand over her mouth.

As soon as the adults were out of sight, two sets of friends disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the street. It was only a week before the start of term so Diagon Alley was much more crowded than it had been when the Winchesters had gone to get Dean's school things.

Although Sam had received his letter to Hogwarts back in May, he had decided to wait to buy the required school supplies until the Weasleys went.

Ron, Ginny and Sam pushed their way through the throngs of witches and wizards to get to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

A large gaggle of children and adults alike seemed to have become entranced by something in the window of the shop, muttering curiously and happily to one another, reluctant to move on and complete their shopping.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, standing on the tips of her toes to try and see past the sea of heads, "What is it?"

Sam, small for his age, was able to squeeze between the onlookers and get close enough to the window to see what everyone was staring at.

A broomstick. Perched prominently behind the glass and illuminated with numerous candles.

The boy, who was not a follower of Quidditch or anything associated with the sport, frowned, wondering why everyone looked awestruck at the sight of the broom. Sam thought it looked very similar to his hand-me-down Shooting Star that had once been Dean's.

"A Nimbus Two-Thousand," Ron breathed in Sam's ear, making him jump, "Oh I wish I had enough gold to buy it."

"What's so special about it?" Sam asked.

Ron looked as though he'd just said something blasphemous.

"It's only the best broom on the market!" the red-haired boy exclaimed.

Sam shrugged, his interest already waning.

"Ron, Sam," Ginny's voice squeaked from the crowd, "Come on, I think Mum and Dad are finished at Gringotts."

Pushing their way back through the crowd, the boys saw their parents, looking very irritated. Mrs Weasley appeared to be having strong words with Percy, who was looking very embarrassed.

"There you are!" Molly broke off scolding Percy to turn her keen brown eyes on her youngest son and daughter.

"Where's Dean?" John asked Sam.

The eleven-year old shrugged, "Probably at the joke shop."

His father frowned, his gaze falling on Sam as though he expected him to spontaneously combust.

The eleven-year old know what his father was worried about. He was concerned he'd have another trance again, like he had the time when they'd gone to get Dean's supplies. Although these episodes were few and far between, they still continued, even in the company of the Weasleys. Sam didn't know how much his Dad had told Mr and Mrs Weasley about his trances, but if he had one when he was visiting, the witch and wizard made sure he was safe until it passed. The first time it had happened in front of Ron and Ginny, they had been understandably scared- Sam refused to respond to them and actively tried to get away from his friends- but now they were used to it. Sam's trances were as much a part of their friend as his love of reading or his hazel eyes were.

"Hey Dad!" As though called by an inaudible signal, Dean bounded up to the group, Fred and George hot on his heels, stuffing what looked curiously like Dung Bombs and No-Heat Fireworks into his pockets.

The expression on John's face made his eldest stop short.

"Come on, Dad," Dean grumbled, "Sam's fine, he's with Ginny and Ron."

"That's not the point," John began but decided he'd rather not start an argument in the middle of the street.

"Let's just get your school things."

W

They visited the Apothecary first. A cramped, dark, foul smelling shop selling ingredients for potions such as newt eyes, bat wool, pickled slugs and powdered jackalope horns.

Sam and Ron purchased the basic ingredients they would need to start the year off while George, Fred, Dean and Percy replenished their stocks.

Next, they stopped off at Amanuensis Quills for writing supplies. This shop was right beside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions but neither the Weasleys entered; both Ron and Sam were getting hand-me-downs.

Before heading to Flourish and Blotts, Sam spotted Ollivander's.

"Can we get my wand now, Dad?" the eleven-year-old asked hopefully.

John looked at the Weasleys.

"We'll meet you at the bookstore," Mr Weasley told the Winchesters.

Ron would not be getting a new wand to start the year off; he had his older brother Charlie's wand.

"See you later," Sam said goodbye to Ron and Ginny as they headed towards the wand shop.

It was just as Sam recalled, dusty, dark and cramped, much of the space taken up by shelves upon shelves of long, thin wand boxes.

His father and brother hung back close to the entrance while the eleven-year-old stepped up to the tall desk and waited, knowing the proprietor would be along shortly.

"Samuel Winchester," a slightly raspy voice announced from within the stacks of wands.

"Yes," Sam squeaked a reply, suddenly very nervous. He turned to look at his brother and father. John smiled while Dean gave him the thumbs-up.

Mr Ollivander appeared from between two shelves, looking exactly as he had the day Dean had bought his wand.

"Finally showed some magic, did you?" the elderly wizard asked not unkindly and Sam gave a queasy smile, wondering just how he knew he'd taken a long time to do anything magical.

"Hm, all's well," Mr Ollivander spoke, sounding as though he were talking to himself, rather than Sam, "Let's get your wand."

Sam waited eagerly as the wizard disappeared between the stacks of wands again. Moments later, he reappeared, carrying a box reverently in his hands.

"Try this one," he opened the box and pulled out the reddish wand inside, "Alder, unicorn hair, ten inches, unyielding."

Sam took the wand from Mr Ollivander and waved it as Dean had told him he should before entering the shop. The boxes of wands closest to the desk all clattered to the floor, a cloud of dust rising in their wake.

Embarrassed, Sam quickly set the wand down on the desk.

"Hm, perhaps a different one," the wizard muttered and strode off to find something else.

"Here!" Mr Ollivander announced, "Black walnut, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches."

Again Sam waved the wand and instantly thick, green smoke poured from the end, bringing tears to the boy's eyes and making him cough.

"Not that one either," Mr Ollivander took the wand from Sam's hand and put it back in its box, "Let me see…"

Sam's heart was beginning to beat nervously. What if there was no wand suited to him? He'd be a laughingstock if he went to school without a wand!

Again, he turned to his father and brother but of course, they couldn't help.

Taking a deep breath, Sam told himself that the next wand Ollivander gave him would be his.

"Fir, phoenix feather, eight inches, quite resilient," the old wizard shoved another wand into Sam's sweaty hands.

Confidently, the boy waved the wand… and turned Mr Ollivander's white hair a bright cotton-candy pink.

"I don't think so," the wizard told him and Sam sadly set the wand aside.

"Never fear," he told the boy, "There is a wand for you here, we just need to find it."

Again, Mr Ollivander vanished between the shelves of wands, heading now to what appeared to be the very back of the shop.

"Wow Sammy," Dean had stepped forward, "Even he didn't have as hard a time finding me a wand."

"Dean," their father said sternly, "Leave him alone."

Mr Ollivander was gone for a long time, nearly ten minutes when Sam wondered if he'd just given up on him. When he was about to say so to his father and brother, the elderly wizard stepped forward, holding a very dusty, very old looking box.

"Try this one," he suggested, his tone somewhat more reserved than before.

Sam took the offered box and opened it. Inside was a fairly short, thin wand made of a pale yellow wood. Curiously, the boy wrapped one hand around the end and gasped at the warmth that seemed to come from within the wand, spreading through his fingers and palm.

Eyes wide, Sam looked up at Mr Ollivander.

"Is it-" he began but the elderly wizard interrupted him.

"It seems you have found your wand," he told the boy, smiling thinly.

"What's it made of?" Dean asked, coming to stand by his brother to admire his new wand.

"Reed, seven inches long," Mr Ollivander began, "With the tail hair from a Threstral."

"What's a-" Sam tried again but the old wizard plucked the wand from his hand and placed it back in its box, wrapping it with tissue paper.

John paid for the wand and then handed it over to Sam. The eleven-year-old clutched the box to his chest as they left the store, keenly aware of Mr Ollivander's eyes on his back as they stepped outside.

"Let's get your books and then stop for some lunch," John suggested.

Dean and Sam followed their father as he wound his way through the crowded street towards the bookshop.

"There you are!" Molly Weasley called out, waving a hand in the air once she had spotted the Winchesters, "We'd thought you'd forgotten to meet with us."

John shook his head; "It took a while for us to get Sam's wand."

"Was it busy in Ollivander's?" Arthur asked, "It's usually quiet."

"Sam took forever to get a wand!" Dean announced, "Like, fifteen minutes!"

Sam lowered his head.

"Can I see it?" Ron asked, at Sam's side.

"Sure," the other boy replied, brightening up and carefully unwrapped the box.

"Wow," Ron admired the slim, shiny wand, "Cool. What's it made of?"

Ginny came over as well to look at Sam's new wand.

"Reed," Sam told him, "And hair from a…um…"

"Threstral," Dean supplied, loudly enough for the adults to hear.

Both Mr and Mrs Weasley looked at John.

"What's a Threstral?" Ron asked, "Dad?"

"Let's get your books," Mrs Weasley interrupted, "It's getting late."

"Sam, put that away for now," John instructed and Sam carefully wrapped the box back up as they stepped into Flourish and Blotts.

W

The Winchester and Weasley families discussed the upcoming school year over piping hot bowls of steak and kidney pie.

Fred, George and Dean, who were all on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, discussed tactics for winning the Quidditch Cup.

"What House do you think you'll get into?" Sam asked Ron.

His friend smiled through a mouthful of pie, "Gryffindor of course."

Sam nodded. It was pretty obvious Ron would be sorted into Gryffindor. All his brothers had been before him.

"What about you? What House do you think you'll go into?" Ginny asked from across the table.

Sam, who had had a lot of time to think on this, answered, "Ravenclaw."

"You do like books an awful lot," Ron admitted.

Sam chuckled.

Further down the table, their parents were talking in quiet, conspiratorial tones and Sam had the feeling they were talking about him, or, more likely his wand.

Peering at the paper-wrapped box sitting beside on the table, Sam set a hand on it as though to keep anyone from snatching it away.

SPN

Dean patted his stomach dramatically as the families headed once again to the Leaky Cauldron, this time to head home. After lunch, the children had convinced their parents to buy ice creams from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and now everyone was nearly bursting with food.

He was excited that his little brother would be joining him at Hogwarts in just about a week's time. He knew Sam was so incredibly happy that his sibling was a wizard. As much as Dean loved their father and respected him, despite him being a Squib, he knew it would have devastated Sam if he'd failed to show any magical ability.

"All right you lot," Mr Weasley called as they approached his blue Ford Anglia, which they had driven into London for Mr Winchester's sake even though Floo Powder would have been faster and more convenient.

"Everyone in," he announced, "We have a bit of a drive before we reach home."

Fred, George, Dean, Sam, Ron, Ginny and Percy all clambered into the car's spacious backseat, while the adults sat side-by-side up front.

Dean smiled as the car rumbled to life and Mr Weasley carefully pulled out of their parking spot, this time next week they'd be at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment if you are enjoying!


	8. The Sorting

On August thirty-first, the day before the start of term, Sam packed and re-packed his trunk multiple times, to ensure he had forgotten nothing.

"Stop worrying, Squirt," Dean spoke from his brother's open doorway, "I'm sure you remembered everything. Besides, even if you didn't, Dad can always bring it with him when he comes to the school."

Sam, who was kneeling on the floor in front of his trunk, sighed and closed the lid.

"Hey," Dean spoke again, "Want to walk down to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer?"

"Okay," the younger boy stood but one last look at his trunk.

As he passed Dean, his older brother put an arm around his shoulders.

"You'll love Hogwarts, Sammy," the fifteen-year-old assured him, "And they'll love you too."

The eleven-year-old smiled up at his brother. At least he wouldn't be going in alone. Dean would be there; starting his fifth year, and Ron would be starting his first year too, even if they didn't end up in the same House.

W

As a result of the warm weather, many witches and wizards who called Hogsmeade their home were out in their front gardens or walking the hard-packed dirt streets that cut through the village.

The Three Broomsticks Inn was unusually quiet but, owing to the pleasant weather, was understandably so. The front door stood open and the Winchesters stepped inside, glad to be out of the glare of the late afternoon sun.

Dean wiped sweat from his forehead with his arm and peered around the familiar interior of the pub. Directly across from the front door was a long wooden bar with a half-dozen stools upholstered in red leather, a mirror hanging on the wall gave patrons a view of themselves as they entered. Along the sides and in the center of the pub were a selection of round tables and mismatched stools. Although everything looked as though it had been picked up at a garage sale, it was all meticulously clean. The strong scent of pipe smoke hung permanently in the warm air, giving the Three Broomsticks a welcoming and friendly atmosphere.

Madam Rosmerta, the proprietress of the pub, smiled when she saw the siblings and came out from around the bar.

Dean grinned back at the woman. She was wearing a long, flowing brown skirt and a low-neck white peasant blouse that showed of more than a little cleavage. Her feet were clad in Greco-Roman style sandals.

"What can I get you boys?" she asked cheerfully.

"Two butterbeers," Dean told her and steered Sam towards the bar, sitting on a stool easily, while the smaller boy struggled for a moment.

"Here," Dean smirked and grabbed Sam's collar, pulling him up as the younger boy climbed onto the stool.

Madam Rosmerta brought the bottles of butterbeer and opened them magically.

"Thanks," Sam said and gulped down the sweet treat.

Dean nodded to the woman and took a sip of his drink.

"Back to school tomorrow?" Madam Rosmerta asked, trying to drum up a conversation, leaning against the bar with her elbows planted firmly on the scrubbed wood.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "Seems like the summer went by too fast."

"What year are you in now?" she asked.

"I'll be starting my fifth year," Dean told her, "And Sammy's just about to start his first."

Madam Rosmerta's green eyes turned to the eleven-year-old, "Excited?"

Sam nodded, wiping butterbeer foam from his mouth.

"Yes," he told her shyly.

"Which House are you hoping to get into?" she asked, "I was a Hufflepuff myself."

"I kind of want Sam to get into Gryffindor," Dean told the woman, "But he's more likely to be a Ravenclaw I think."

Sam smiled and took another gulp of butterbeer.

The conversation turned from Hogwarts Houses to the Quidditch teams; Dean's position was Chaser along with Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. The captain of the Gryffindor team, Oliver Wood, had been intent on winning the Quidditch Cup- something that had been beyond their grasp- ever since Charlie Weasley had left the team.

"If we don't win this year," Dean was telling Madam Rosmerta, who seemed intensely interested in the conversation, "Wood is going to have a nervous breakdown."

W

Dean and Sam stepped out into the heat of the afternoon, the eleven-year-old peering longingly at Honeydukes down the street.

Dean, following his brother's gaze, smiled, "Want something?"

Sam nodded, "Maybe to beat the heat?"

Dean shrugged, "Sure, why not? Ice mice or coconut ice?"

The younger boy shook his head, "Let's get ice cream."

"Sounds good to me," Dean said and the brothers stepped into the sweet shop, picking out what flavours of ice cream they wanted.

Moments later they were heading back home once more, holding large cones of ice cream- chocolate walnut for Dean and strawberry swirl for Sam- taking their time licking the sweet treat, not worried about drips because the treat had been charmed to not melt in the heat.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Dean asked his brother seriously.

Sam remained silent for a moment, licking his ice cream contemplatively.

"A little…" he admitted, "…A lot."

"What are you scared of?" the fifteen-year-old asked.

"What if… What if I'm not good enough?" Sam had stopped walking and peered up with fear in his hazel eyes.

"What do you mean?" Dean inquired, confused.

"What if I'm not a wizard…" Sam fretted, "What if I'm more… more like Dad than we thought."

Dean lowered his ice cream cone, "Sam, come off it. You are a wizard. You can do magic. I saw it with my own eyes- more than once. You got your letter to Hogwarts, you've got a wand, what more proof do you need?"

Sam stared at his unmelting ice cream, "I… I don't know… what if I don't know stuff the other kids do? What if I look like an idi-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Dean growled, "You're not an idiot and you're not going to look like one in front of the others either. There is tons of stuff even Fred and George don't know and both their Mom and Dad are wizards. Everyone starts at the same place, Sammy. You're not going to get left behind. I know Muggle-borns who excel in classes you wouldn't think they would."

"Really?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean nodded, "There's a girl in my year, Blossom Henderson, who is awesome at Transfiguration."

Sam smiled, reassured by his brother's words.

"Now," Dean grinned back, "Stop worrying so much and finish your ice cream."

SPN

Ms Gibbons made such a fuss over the boys the next evening that Sam started worrying again.

"Be sure to write and tell me how your first day goes Sam," she requested, "You can use one of the school owls."

The boy nodded, watching as his older brother rolled his eyes.

"And try to come out of your shell," the elderly witch continued, "Talk to the other children, make friends."

"I will, Ms Gibbons," Sam assured her as she made a comb appear and began brushing his chestnut locks.

"I wish you'd let me cut your hair," she sighed, "It's getting a bit long."

Sam pulled his head back, "I like my hair like this."

"Well your father feels the same as I do," Ms Gibbons argued, hands on her narrow hips.

"C'mon Sammy, we'll be late," Dean grabbed his brother's hand, "We'll write to you as soon as we can Ms Gibbons."

Sam's brother pulled him out the door, his trunk trailing behind him. The sun was already beginning to go down, the sky a deep pink, casting long shadows on the ground.

"Hurry up, Sam!" Dean urged, still holding his sibling's hand, "We don't want to be late!"

The eleven-year-old trotted to keep up with his older sibling, Dean's longer legs allowing him to take bigger strides.

Bolstered by the knowledge that within about forty-five minutes or so he'd be sorted into his House, meeting new friends, and looking forward to a school year of learning how to control his magic.

A thought suddenly occurred to the boy as he followed his brother: Maybe he'd learn to stop the terrifying visions he kept having. Perhaps one of his professors would know what was happening and be able to fix it.

Smiling, Sam picked up his pace as he followed behind Dean, more eager than ever to start school at Hogwarts.

W

Sam pushed open the door to an empty chamber to the right of the Great Hall, face burning with humiliation. He was late. Heads turned as he entered, some of the children sniggering.

Professor McGonagall peered over the tops of her square spectacles at him.

"So nice of you to join us," she said dryly to a handful of giggles.

Sam came to stand at the back of the crowd, glancing down at the flagstone floor.

"As I was saying," the professor continued, "The four houses are Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Every house has its own proud lineage and has helped shape a great number of distinguished witches and wizards throughout the years. You will spend most of your time with the other boys and girls in your particular house, attending classes together, sleeping in the dormitories and studying in the common rooms. As you move through Hogwarts, victories and positive behaviour will earn you points towards the House Cup awarded at the end of each year- rule breaking will result in a loss of points. I hope all of you will bring honour to whichever house becomes yours."

Professor McGonagall took a moment to scan the crowd of eleven-year-olds and Sam felt certain her gaze rested for a millisecond longer on him than on anyone else before she spoke again.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a moment. Please prepare yourselves for my return," she told them and left the chamber by way of a narrow door opposite the one Sam had just entered from.

"Hey! Sam!"

The boy looked up at the sound of his name and saw Ron, waving his hand at him from the front of the crowd, "Over here!"

Sam pushed past the other children to join his friend, who was standing beside a boy not much taller than himself, with messy jet-black hair and bright green eyes.

"Sam, guess who this is," Ron grinned pointing at the boy.

Sam glanced at the other boy, who appeared quite embarrassed about being singled out.

"Harry Potter!" Ron hissed excitedly, "We met on the train."

Sam knew about Harry Potter. There wasn't anyone in the wizarding world that didn't but instead of becoming awestruck like Ron, Sam nodded and said "Hello."

For a moment, Harry Potter said nothing, simply blinked at him as though surprised and then said hello back, smiling a little.

"Do you know how we get sorted into our Houses?" Harry asked, looking nervously around.

"You have to put on this old hat," Sam began, "And it tells you which House to go into."

"That's it?" Harry asked, "Really?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah. It's easy. You barely have to do anything."

The boy nodded, looking as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I told you," Ron told him, "Nothing to worry about."

Before the boys could speak again, several people behind them screamed and suddenly around twenty ghosts floated out of a wall to their right.

Sam, who had experience with the Hogwarts ghosts, was probably the calmest in the room. He smiled slightly as he heard the Fat Friar arguing with Nearly-Headless Nick about Peeves the Poltergeist.

"I say! What are you all doing here?" Nick asked the gathered children.

Before anyone could answer him a sharp voice rang out, "Move along. The Sorting is about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned.

Sam watched without interest as the ghosts slowly disappeared through the opposite wall. He was suddenly nervous again, his palms sweating profusely.

"Form a line now," McGonagall instructed, "And follow me."

Sam fell into line behind Harry Potter and Ron and followed as they were marched through the door on the opposite side of the room… and into the Great Hall.

Even though Sam had seen the Great Hall in all its glory a handful of times over the years, it never failed to impress him. The ceiling tonight was as black as ink, the sky moonless and cloudless, stars dotted here and there in its vast expanse. Four long tables were illuminated by hundreds of real floating candles, golden dishes, utensils and goblets set out and ready for the feast that would follow the Sorting.

Upon a raised platform stood the teacher's table. Sam recognized most of their faces, including Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, and Professor Binns- the only ghost professor.

Sam turned his attention to Professor McGonagall as she set a four-legged stool in front of the High Table and on top of that, the Sorting Hat. Patched and frayed and grimy, it looked as though it didn't have any shred of magic within it but Sam knew otherwise. He waited patiently for what he knew was about to happen.

A tear in the hat suddenly opened wide and a deep, masculine voice rang out, singing about the four Hogwarts houses.

As the Sorting Hat sang, Sam thought about the characteristics valued by each house, trying to figure out which one would fit him:

Gryffindor valued bravery, daring, nerve and chivalry above all else. Sam oftentimes didn't feel brave, especially when confronted by visions of the yellow-eyed wizard and the faceless cloaked beings that glided soundlessly through ruined landscapes that had once been Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade Village or Ottery St Catchpole.

Hufflepuffs were just, loyal and patient. Although Sam considered himself a loyal friend and patient person- who wouldn't be if they had Dean as an older brother- he didn't think it'd be enough for Helga Hufflepuff.

Ravenclaw took in students who had ready minds, who valued wit and learning. Well, Sam loved to read and he loved to learn new things. He nearly always had his nose in a book, as Dean loved to point out.

Slytherins were unafraid of using any means to achieve the ends they wanted. Sam scowled; he definitely wasn't like that. There was no way he'd hurt someone to get what he wanted.

The Sorting Hat finished its song and the Great Hall was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment:

"When I call your name," she announced to the gathered first years, "You will sit down on the stool and put the hat on your head and go to the table of the House you are sorted into."

Peering through her square spectacles, and read off the first name, "Abbott, Hannah!"

Sam watched as a pink-faced girl in blonde pigtails walked up to the stool, sat down quickly and carefully placed the hat on her head as though she were afraid it would explode.

The hat didn't explode; instead, the tear in its fabric that was its mouth opened wide and shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hannah pulled the hat off quickly and rushed towards the Hufflepuff table, beaming.

Susan Bones became the second Hufflepuff.

A boy named Terry Boot became the first Ravenclaw quickly followed to the table by Mandy Brockhurst.

Lavender Brown, a tall girl with curly dark blonde hair and blue eyes became the first Gryffindor.

Milicent Bulstrode, a girl built like a linebacker, was the year's first Slytherin.

Michael Corner went into Ravenclaw, Vincent Crabbe went to Slytherin, Tracy Davis also became a Slytherin and Fay Dunbar another Gryffindor.

Sam, whose nerves seemed to shoot up with every new name that was called, with every second his own Sorting loomed closer and closer, could barely concentrate on the names called.

"Granger, Hermione," a girl with very bushy brown hair and large front teeth stepped forward. The girl jammed the hat roughly onto her head, she was so eager to be sorted. It placed her in Gryffindor.

A few more students were placed and then McGonagall announced it was time for "Malfoy, Draco" to step forward. Beside Sam, Ron groaned.

Sam watched as a boy with pale blonde hair and a pointed face, lifted the hat and, with it barely touching his head, was sorted into Slytherin.

Again, more students were called up. The crowd standing before the hat grew smaller and smaller, the children unconsciously moving closer together to close the gaps between them.

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall called out, to much murmuring from all the students.

Sam watched as Harry stepped up to the stool and sat down. Curiously, he watched, as the hat seemed to be considering Harry for a long time before finally deciding to put him in Gryffindor.

The applause that greeted this decision was much more enthusiastic than it had been for any other new student, Fred and George Weasley shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" over the sounds of clapping.

It took a minute for the excitement to die down. Once it did, Professor McGonagall, who looked more than a little irritated, continued calling students.

In no time, Ron's name was called. Sam grinned as his friend took a seat on the stool and put the hat on.

Almost as though it didn't need to think about its choice, the Sorting Hat announced Ronald Weasley was to be a Gryffindor.

"Winchester, Samuel."

Now it was his turn. Sam took a breath and walked up to the stool, turned and sat so he was facing the assembled students. He just caught sight of his brother smiling up at him before he placed the hat on his head and it slipped down over his eyes so that he couldn't see.

A small voice, the hat's whisper, startled Sam as it spoke directly into his ear.

"Let's see now," the Sorting Hat said, "I see a very strong sense of loyalty… good… good… and a love of knowledge… a decent amount of bravery as well… and interesting, I see great resourcefulness and self-preservation too… and more than a hint of ambition."

Sam tried to keep from thinking anything, wanting the Hat's decision to be impartial.

"I suppose it'll have to be…" the Hat whispered in the boy's ear.

Sam held his breath, his eyes clenched shut.

"SLYTHERIN!"

What?! Sam thought frantically. No, there had to be some mistake, he couldn't be in Slytherin! Anything but Slytherin, he'd even take Hufflepuff.

"I cannot go back on my decision, young man," the Hat informed him, "You'll become great in Slytherin."

This couldn't be happening. Sam felt as though all the wind had been knocked out of him and he actually slumped on the stool, unaware that everyone was staring at him.

Suddenly the Hat was lifted from his head and he blinked up at Professor McGonagall.

"There's been a mistake," Sam rambled, "Please, let me try again."

"You've been Sorted into Slytherin," McGonagall told him not unkindly, "I suggest you join your House."

The eleven-year-old sucked in a shaky breath and walked across the Great Hall on legs that felt like lead. He didn't even hear as the last couple of students were sorted into their Houses.

Sitting down at the end of the Slytherin table, Sam couldn't have felt more out of place than if he were wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

The other first years turned to him, smirking, and he felt even more stupid for causing a scene in front of the whole school.

Albus Dumbledore was talking, making everyone laugh but Sam wasn't listening. All he could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears.

Moments after the Headmaster had finished, food magically appeared in the dishes, bowls and pitchers along the tables and all but one student dug in, eager and hungry.

Sam was in shock. He hadn't even considered the Sorting Hat would place him in Slytherin, had always assumed he'd end up in Gryffindor with his brother or even Ravenclaw, but not the House notorious for churning out the most Dark witches and wizards.

From the corner of his eye, Sam glanced at his fellow Slytherins and saw that the majority of the first-years were gathered around the boy with the pale hair and long face. He seemed to be talking about how his father was one of the Governors of the school and they lived in some large manor house.

Raising a hand, Sam took his fork and stabbed a boiled potato from the bowl in front of him.

What was he going to do? There had to be some sort of mistake. Maybe something had gone wrong.

He wondered if he could talk to Professor Dumbledore about this and have him put him in a different House.

Sam raised his eyes to the High Table and saw the Headmaster in deep conversation with Professor McGonagall. Sam's stomach clenched and he turned his gaze to the Gryffindor table, seeking out his brother.

Dean was sitting with Fred and George Weasley and their friend, Lee Jordon. Dean wasn't even looking in his direction.

Tearing his gaze away from his brother, Sam saw Ron talking animatedly to Harry and felt a pang of jealousy. That should be him sitting beside his friend!

"Hey," a slow, drawling view drew Sam's attention back to his own table, "Come sit with us."

The boy with pale hair, Draco Malfoy was talking to Sam.

Hesitating for only a second, the eleven-year-old moved down the table to sit closer to the other children his own age.

"What's your name again? Worchester?" Draco asked.

"Winchester," Sam corrected, "Sam Winchester."

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy introduced himself and held out a hand.

"Hold on!" a loud, rough voice startled the first years and an older Slytherin boy, who, Sam later learned was Marcus Flint, captain of the Quidditch team, inserted himself into the conversation.

"Your last name's Winchester?" he asked Sam. Before the boy could answer, a malicious smile broke across Marcus Flint's face, showing off mossy, crooked teeth.

"You're the caretaker's son!" he crowed merrily.

Sam didn't respond. Draco was eyeing Sam now as though he was covered in dragon dung and withdrew his hand.

"Is that true?" he asked Sam.

Again, he didn't have a chance to answer because Marcus was talking again.

"Dumbledore probably let him in because he feels sorry for him," the older boy sneered, "His Dad's a Squib, you know, not a drop of magical blood in his body. No better than a Muggle."

Sam, who hated anyone to speak ill of his father, growled, "Shut up."

"Oooh, you going to make me?" Marcus taunted.

"What are you going to do?" A girl with a face like a pug's, added, "Hit him with a mop?"

Although Ms Gibbons had always tried to teach the Winchester boys to turn the other cheek, Sam felt himself growing angrier and angrier. Maybe it was the unfairness of being sorted into a House with such a dark reputation or the fact that the other children, who were supposed to be his friends, were ganging up on him without even getting to know him, but Sam couldn't take the snide comments and taunts.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, he leapt from his seat directly at the instigator, Marcus Flint, with his fists flying.

The older boy, clearly surprised and unprepared for the attack, fell back off the bench seat and onto the floor. Sam landed on Flint's chest, punching him in the head as hard as he could.

"You! Take! It! Back!" Sam growled, "You! Take! Back! What! You! Said! 'Bout! My! Dad!"

Seeing red, the eleven-year-old didn't even notice as the Slytherin Prefects stood up to break up the fight, as did Professor Snape and Dean.

Before Sam could be pulled off Marcus, the older boy managed to wrap his large hands around the smaller student's neck.

Cries of "Get him, Marcus!" or "You're hurting him!" filled the Great Hall before the two students were separated.

Professor Snape held Flint by the collar of his shirt, the older boy's nose bloody and dripping down his chin.

Dean had both arms wrapped around his sibling's middle, Sam coughing and spluttering from being nearly strangled to death.

"Both of you in my office," Snape snapped, "Right now."

Dean released his brother and Sam, panting for air peered up at him for help. His sibling just looked at him sadly; there was nothing he could do to help his brother.

With no choice but to do as he was told, Sam followed behind Professor Snape as he swept out of the Great Hall, parting the crowd of students who'd gotten up to watch the fight like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Marcus Flint, pinching the bridge of his nose, lumbered behind Sam, muttering darkly under his breath.

The two students followed the teacher down a number of staircases, away from the warmth and light of the Great Hall. The further down they walked, the colder and damper it became until Sam had the strange feeling they were underground.

Snape stopped at a wooden door set into the greenish stone wall and opened it.

"In," he said shortly and both Sam and Flint entered the professor's office without a word.

If Sam hadn't been hungry before, he certainly wasn't now, because Professor Snape had chosen to decorate his office with shelves full of slimy dead things floating in glass jars, all of them illuminated by orange flames glowing in brackets along the walls.

"Sit," Snape took a seat behind his desk and tentatively the boys sat in the wooden chairs across from him.

"Never have I witnessed such a display," he said coldly, "of disrespect in all my years as a Professor."

Sam dared look up, "He's shouldn't have said what he did about my Dad."

Snape's dark eyes landed on the eleven-year-old and he immediately realized he should have kept silent.

"Clearly your 'Dad'failed to teach you the basic rules of conduct when interacting with other children," he sneered at Sam and the boy lowered his gaze.

"You will both go straight to the dormitory and remain there until tomorrow morning," Snape told them, "You will also receive detention later this week."

He stood up and stepped around his desk and paused, "Flint, you will show Winchester where the Slytherin dormitories are. I do not want to find out he's been wandering around the castle when the feast ends."

"But-" Marcus began, glaring daggers at the younger boy.

"Do it," Snape demanded. He stepped from his office, slamming the door after himself.

For a moment neither Sam nor Marcus moved.

School hadn't even started and Sam was already in trouble! His Dad was going to be so disappointed. Maybe Flint was right and he didn't belong here.

"Come on," Marcus growled and pulled himself up.

Sam followed the older boy silently as they walked down yet another set of stairs and down another long hallway that was strangely empty- no portraits adorned the walls and no suits of armour stood as sentinels- until Flint suddenly stopped.

Looking around, Sam didn't see anything particularly remarkable about this stretch of hallway. It was cold, damp and slightly mossy.

"Here it is," Flint grunted to Sam.

The eleven-year-old peered curiously at the wall and waited.

The older boy ground out the words 'Carpe Noctem,' and the stones of the wall seemed to melt away to reveal a doorway.

Sam quickly followed Marcus inside and, glancing behind him, saw the stones reappear to conceal the entrance as quickly as they had vanished.

The Slytherin common room, despite being underneath the school, was surprisingly warm. A large fireplace blazed along one wall, the picture of a large snake above the mantle place. The stone floors were covered with green rugs, couches and chairs upholstered in black leather were scattered around. A bookshelf sat across from the fireplace with a corkboard beside it for notices. Two doorways stood in the walls on either side of the fireplace, heading, Sam guessed, to the dormitories. Windows in the walls showed a strange scene of tangled weeds and fish- they were beneath the Black Lake.

Flint dragged one of the couches over to face the fireplace and flung himself down onto it, not glancing at the younger boy.

Without speaking, Marcus pointed to the doorway to the left. Sam, taking a hint, headed in that direction and after walking through a short, narrow corridor, entered the first-year boys' dormitory.

Finding his bed quickly, a four-poster with green sheets and grey curtains, Sam sat down and sucked in a shaky breath.

Now that the anger and adrenaline had worn off, Sam felt deeply ashamed of what he had done. He didn't feel bad for hitting Marcus Flint, but he did feel bad for embarrassing his brother and maybe even their father. He should have kept his mouth shut and gone to Professor Snape later. Raising a hand to his neck, Sam gingerly touched his throat; tender from where the older boy had been strangling him.

What a way to start the school year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you're enjoying!


	9. Outcast

Sam woke early the next morning, hoping against hope that the previous night had just been part of a horrible nightmare and that when he opened his eyes he would be back home in his own bed, yet to be sorted into his House.

Sitting up, the eleven-year-old slowly lifted his eyelids and let out a breath. The grey curtains surrounding his four-poster came into focus, lit eerily by sunlight slanting through the lake outside the window.

With a sigh, Sam yanked the curtains back and saw that the beds around his were empty. Was he late for breakfast? For class?

Jumping up, Sam quickly peeled off his plain black robes, t-shirt and blue jeans he had fallen asleep in. Climbing to the end of his bed he grabbed his new robes, black but now with the Slytherin crest on the chest and pulled out a fresh shirt and pants.

Dressing quickly, Sam grabbed his messenger bag from his trunk, stuffed textbooks, parchment, quills and ink inside before running from the dormitory to find the common room equally deserted.

"No, no, no," he groaned as he hurried across the common room and the stones on the opposite wall opened for him. Pausing, Sam took a moment to orientate himself before dashing down the hall and up the first staircase he saw.

W

Ten minutes later Sam entered the Great Hall, panting and sweating. Noticing that most of the students had already left to go to their morning classes, the eleven-year-old made a bee-line for the Slytherin table and grabbed a piece of toast from the platter in the middle.

Draco Malfoy, the dog-faced girl, whose name was Pansy Parkinson and two other boys were sitting not far from Sam, finishing their breakfast.

"Miss your alarm, Winchester?" Malfoy drawled smugly, popping a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Sam, chewing on his toast said nothing. He'd already gotten into trouble for fighting before school had even started, he didn't need to start his first day of classes the same way.

A bell rang from somewhere nearby and Sam looked up, toast sticking out of his mouth. The few remaining students were gathering up their belongings and heading towards the exit.

"Oh," Malfoy drawled loudly, "Snape's already handed out the timetables. I told him I'd give you one."

The boy was holding out a piece of paper in Sam's direction.

Sam cautiously raised his hand to take the paper, only to have it snatched back by Malfoy. Pansy thought this was hilarious and shrieked laughter.

Sam hoisted his messenger bag onto his shoulder and turned to leave.

"Winchester!" Malfoy called, "Here!"

A crumpled up piece of paper hit Sam's chest and fell to the floor. He bent down and picked it up, unfolding it to see that it was his timetable.

Malfoy and his friends got up and headed out of the Great Hall ahead of Sam but he didn't care. He didn't want to walk too close to them.

Reading his schedule, Sam saw that his first class was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. Walking out of the Great Hall and through the Entrance Hall, Sam pushed the school's heavy doors open and stepped into the misty morning of September the first.

Sam knew where the greenhouses were, he could see them from Hagrid's hut, and so he quickly overtook Malfoy and his friends, actually beating them to where the rest of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were.

Professor Sprout, a short, slightly dumpy-looking witch looked up when Sam opened the door to the greenhouse and stepped inside but said nothing.

The boy came to a stop at the back of the pack of Slytherins, a few of whom turned their heads to look at him and whisper. Ignoring them, Sam focused on what Professor Sprout was saying about the Alihotsy or Hyena tree.

Malfoy and his friends stepped inside, much to Professor Sprout's irritation, "Are we all here?"

"Yes, Professor," Pansy answered in a distracted tone as she turned to mutter something to one of Malfoy's cronies.

"Alright then," Professor Sprout continued, "Please get into pairs, we are going to trim some leaves from the Alihotsy today."

Sam looked around but it appeared as though everyone had a partner already.

"Is everyone ready? No? Why don't you come over here and help me then?" Professor Sprout addressed Sam and the boy made his way over to her.

In a clay pot before her stood a spindly tree with round, shiny leaves of the darkest brown. The Alihotsy looked extremely harmless.

"Now I want everyone to pay close attention because this is very important," Professor Sprout gazed out at the students, "Do not eat the leaves. No matter how good they smell. If you do, you'll end up laughing yourself sick. We don't want that the first day. Now, cut the leaves as close to the branches as possible, like so."

She demonstrated the proper way to prune the Alihotsy by using a small pair of shears. As soon as Professor Sprout cut into the wood of the plant, the most delicious scent wafted towards Sam, reminding him that he had only had a bit of toast for breakfast and making him nearly drool.

"Place the leaves in the baskets provided and I'll collect them at the end of class."

She handed her shears over to Sam and started walking amongst the students, correcting a technique here or reminding someone not to eat the leaves there.

Not wanting to mess up on his first day, Sam forced himself to ignore the growing hunger the scent of the Alihotsy was causing him and carefully cut the leaves, placing them gently into the basket beside the potted plant.

The class was five minutes into pruning the Alihotsy when suddenly the quiet murmur of voices and the sharp click of shears closing were shattered by a guffaw of laughter.

Professor Sprout looked up quickly from where she was inspecting two Hufflepuffs' plant.

"Who was that?" she wanted to know, her small eyes scanning the students.

The laughter rang out again and Sam smirked at the sight of one of Malfoy's friends with his large hands clapped over his mouth, trying to stop.

"You, boy, to the Hospital Wing," Professor Sprout pointed to him, "Can you two take him? Tell Madam Pomfrey he needs Glumbumble treacle."

Pansy, who had been partnered with Malfoy started to protest but then thought better of it and followed her classmates. The two boys, who didn't look as though they had a decent brain cell between them, lumbered out, the one who had eaten the Alihosty leaves letting out a peal of laughter just as the greenhouse door was closing.

"You two," Professor Sprout said, eying Sam and Malfoy, "Join up."

Sam opened his mouth to protest then thought better of it and went over to Malfoy's Alihotsy.

"You're still here, are you?" the pale-faced boy asked as though he had only noticed Sam's presence.

"I thought for certain Snape was going to expel you," he continued, snipping leaves off the plant as he liked, disregarding Professor Sprout's instructions.

Sam smiled at the other boy, "Just lucky I guess."

Malfoy's light blue eyes narrowed, "Don't get too comfortable, Winchester. It's only a matter of time before-"

"Before what, Mr Malfoy?" Professor Sprout was standing right behind the boy, "Did you not hear my instructions? Cut close to the branch! These leaves will not do!"

She stared down with disapproval at Malfoy's leaf cuttings.

"See how Mr Winchester cuts his leaves?" Professor Sprout pointed to Sam, "Do exactly what he's doing."

The teacher moved on again and Sam couldn't help but grin at Malfoy, whose pale cheeks had gone pink.

W

The rest of the class went by relatively uneventfully, Sam and Draco tried to nip each other's fingers with their shears, feigning accident, with no serious injuries in the end.

Pansy Parkinson and the two Slytherin boys who Sam learned were named Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle respectively, returned just as their classmates were leaving the greenhouse to head back to the castle.

Sam hung back from the other Slytherins, ending up surrounded by a chatting group of Hufflepuffs.

Turning to look at the boy closest to him, Sam smiled.

"Hi, I'm Sam," he said and the Hufflepuff stared warily at him as though afraid Sam was going to lash out and attack him.

"Don't talk to him, Justin," the blonde girl with pigtails, Hannah, Sam remembered her name was, whispered and they both steered away from him, giving him nervous looks as they did so.

Sighing sadly, Sam stopped, letting the Hufflepuffs pass him until he was walking behind the pack of students, sorely reminded that his actions the night before had been seen by the entire school.

Head down, he followed the group of students, not paying much attention to where they were going.

The second lesson of the day was History of Magic. Sam, who knew what to expect from Professor Binns, sat at the back of the classroom and rested his head on his desk while their ghostly teacher droned on about notable witches and wizards who lived centuries ago.

When the bell chimed to signal the end of class, Sam joined the sea of students streaming out of their own classrooms, heading straight for the Great Hall to have lunch.

The crowd around the eleven-year-old was so loud and boisterous that at first, he didn't hear his name being called.

"Sam!"

"Sammy!"

"SAM!"

Pausing, he turned slightly and saw Dean shoving his way through the bustling students towards him.

"Didn't you hear me?" Dean asked when he had reached Sam.

The younger boy shrugged.

"What class did you just have?" Dean asked, putting an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"History of Magic," Sam replied, feeling better than he had been all morning.

Dean made a face, "Did you get a nap in?"

Sam smiled but shook his head.

"What was your first class?"

Sam told Dean all about his Herbology class, about how Professor Sprout had praised his Alihotsy cuttings and how Crabbe had eaten some of the leaves, forcing Sam and Malfoy to pair up.

Sam hesitated to tell his brother about the teasing he was facing from the members of his own House. He didn't want Dean to make a big deal about it and make things worse.

As they entered the Great Hall, with his arm still across his younger brother's shoulders, Dean headed straight towards the Gryffindor table where his friends, Fred, George and Lee were already sitting.

Sam felt himself grinning as he caught sight of Ron waving at him and gesturing him over.

"Hey!" Ron greeted as he sat down beside his friend.

"Hi," Sam replied, relaxing for the first time all morning. Ron was still his friend, even though he'd been sorted into Slytherin house.

The red-haired boy nodded at the crest on Sam's chest.

"Tough break, that," he said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Sam frowned slightly.

"Thanks," Sam muttered and began to scoop tuna casserole onto his plate.

"Just because Slytherin's had more Dark witches and wizards come from it," Ron continued, "Doesn't mean you're evil."

"You're not making him feel better," George told his younger brother from across the table.

"Listen, Sam," Fred began, "There are lots of wizards in Slytherin who weren't Dark."

"Yeah, there's Merlin and… um… whatshisname…" George added and then hesitated, unable to think of another example.

"The point is," Dean leaned forward, spraying his brother with bits of black pudding, "So what you're in Slytherin? The Sorting Hat never says that being evil is what gets you in there."

"Yeah!" Ron interrupted, "You've got to be determined…"

"And confident…" Fred added.

"Resourceful…" George piped up.

"And clever," Dean finished.

Sam, chewing his food, thought about it and realized his friends were right, just because he was in Slytherin didn't mean he was evil or was going to become evil. His friends hadn't abandoned him simply because he wasn't in the same house as they were.

Recalling what the Sorting Hat had said to him; that he was loyal, brave, a lover of knowledge, as well as ambitious, resourceful and have a strong sense of self-preservation, he realized he could just as easily have been sorted into any of the other three Houses. Just because he had been placed into Slytherin didn't mean it was the be all and end all. It was the House that most closely reflected his personality traits but it, of course, wasn't the only House. He, like everyone else, wasn't one-dimensional and shouldn't take the Sorting Hat's decision too personally.

Sam's attention was drawn away from his musings when Percy appeared, standing behind Fred and George, looking down at him disapprovingly.

"What?" Ron asked irritably.

"He's a Slytherin," Percy pointed out unnecessarily, in a sea of gold and red, Sam's green and silver stuck out like a sore thumb.

"So?" Dean asked, turning to peer at the older boy.

"He shouldn't be sitting with us," Percy told them, "He should be sitting at his own table."

"Oh come off it, Percy," Fred growled, "There's no rule saying Sam can't sit here."

"If he doesn't move, I'll have to go to Professor McGonagall," Percy warned.

"You do that, Perce," George told his brother.

Sam peered nervously at the older boys, "He wouldn't really tell on me? Would he?"

"I'm sure McGonagall will just laugh at him," George assured him, "There is nothing saying you can't sit with other Houses."

Sam nodded but didn't feel like eating anymore. If Percy went to McGonagall and she talked to Snape, he might get into trouble again.

"They don't look like a pleasant lot anyway," Lee broke in, "I wouldn't want to sit with them either."

Sam turned his head and peered across the room towards the Slytherin table where Malfoy sat, surrounded by a group of first years who were all watching the blond-haired boy intently as he appeared to be telling a very interesting story.

Malfoy must have said something very funny at that moment because his fellow first-years burst out laughing. The boy's pale eyes found Sam and a small smirk curled his lips. Sam quickly looked back at his plate.

"What… uh, classes, did you have?" he quickly asked Ron, trying to take his thoughts off Malfoy and his gang.

"We had Charms," his friend told him, "But it was kind of boring, all we learned was how to hold our wands and wave them about."

"I thought it wasn't too bad," Harry added, "I just can't wait to actually do some magic."

"We had Transfiguration afterwards," Ron told Sam, shaking his head, "It was a disaster."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"We had to try and turn a matchstick into a needle," Harry explained, his face scrunched up as though he were constipated, "It's a lot harder than it looked."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered with a pointed look down the table at the girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth who was sitting by herself, a book propped in front of a jug of pumpkin juice.

Sam told Ron and Harry how Crabbe had eaten some of the Alihotsy leaves after Professor Sprout had warned them not to. Ron snorted laughter into his pudding and Harry chanced a glance at the Slytherin boy with long gorilla-like arms, a bowl haircut, squashed nose and mean beady eyes.

All too soon the bell rang again and Sam reluctantly left the Gryffindor table to head to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the rest of the Slytherins.

"Hey, Winchester!"

Sam didn't even turn to look as Malfoy called his name.

"Winchester!" Malfoy's voice was closer now but still, Sam refused to look over his shoulder.

"I thought they put you into Gryffindor, what are you doing here?" the pale-faced boy asked from directly behind Sam.

"You should have stayed with them," Malfoy continued, "You'd fit right in: muggle-lovers and mudbloods, the lot of them."

Sam curled his hands into fists but kept gazing straight ahead.

Eventually, they reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Sam took a seat at the back, away from the Slytherins who seemed to hate him and the Hufflepuffs who seemed to fear him and tried to concentrate on Professor Quirrell's lesson.

W

The last class of the day was Transfiguration. Ron was right; it was a disaster.

Sam ended up being paired with one of Malfoy's cronies, Gregory Goyle, who was as stupid as he was ugly.

No one managed to turn his or her matchsticks into needles, but by the end of the lesson, Sam's match was a silvery-grey and pointed at one end.

As the other students were filing out of the class, groaning about McGonagall giving them on the first day and eager for dinner, Sam heard his name called by the professor and turned around nervously.

"Yes, Professor?" Sam asked as he approached her desk. She was staring at him from over the tops of her square-rimmed spectacles.

Without further prompting, McGonagall asked Sam a question, which left him taken slightly aback.

"Have you made any friends from your House yet, Sam?"

He hesitated, thought about lying and then decided against it, having a feeling that she would know if he wasn't being truthful.

"No, Professor," he told her, "But I'm sure-"

Without allowing Sam to finish, Professor McGonagall spoke, "Being Sorted into Slytherin doesn't automatically make you a bad person. There are many Dark Wizards from other Hogwarts Houses besides yours. I know that it may not be easy but if you find a friend, just one, that will be enough."

Sam nodded, "I'll try, Professor."

Pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, Sam turned and walked out of the classroom into the deserted corridor.

Entering the Great Hall, Sam looked longingly at his brother and friend sitting at the Gryffindor table before heading to the other side of the hall where the Slytherins sat. Professor McGonagall had to be right; there had to be at least one person who wanted to be his friend.

Taking a seat near the other first years, but careful not to sit too close to Malfoy and his gang, Sam started filling his plate with food; buttered peas and pork chops and roasted potatoes and a handful of mint humbugs just because he was feeling a bit adventurous.

As he ate, Sam covertly eyed the other first years, trying to decide if any of them looked likely to be friendly.

Aside from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle there was Theodore Nott, who was tall and weedy, with brown hair, and somewhat bulbous eyes. Then there was Blaise Zabini, dark-skinned, with high cheekbones and slanted eyes, was also sitting by himself though he appeared to be listening to Draco's conversation.

There was but one girl not sitting near Pansy Parkinson. Unlike Blaise Zabini she was not keeping one ear on the others' chatter or, like Theodore Nott, eating steadily as though simply out of necessity rather than for the enjoyment of the food.

Tracy Davis was spooning steak and kidney pie into her mouth with an absent-minded expression, lost in thought.

The girl must have felt Sam's eyes on her because she turned her head in his direction and he quickly looked down at his plate. After a moment, he glanced up again and saw that she was still looking at him. Nervous, Sam smiled a little and he saw the corner of her mouth lift ever so slightly in response.

Feeling pleased that he had at least found one Slytherin who didn't hate him on sight; Sam finished his dinner with a burst of confidence had hadn't known he possessed.

W

Back in the Slytherin common room, Sam went straight to his dormitory and pulled a roll of parchment from his trunk, remembering that Ms Gibbons had wanted to hear all about his first day at Hogwarts.

With the curtains around his bed drawn, Sam could write in relative peace. Sitting cross-legged, his copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 balanced on his knees, Sam carefully unscrewed the lid to a jar of black ink and dipped the very tip of his quill in, moving his hand slowly so as not to drip on the blankets.

A burst of laughter out in the common room made Sam jump, nearly spilling his ink and he quickly replaced the lid should he tempt fate. Nibbling on the end of the quill for a moment, he thought about what to say and then decided on the truth, mostly.

'Hello Ms Gibbons,

I don't know if Dad's told you already, but I've been sorted into Slytherin. Not the House I expected but that's okay, I'm just happy to be at Hogwarts. Today I had Herbology, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. All of my classes are very interesting.

I hope this letter finds you well'

Sam paused in his writing as he heard footsteps coming down the narrow walkway towards the dormitory. Holding his breath, pretending he was asleep, he waited, listening as the footsteps stopped at the opposite end of the room and whomever it was rummaged around in their trunk before leaving again. Letting his breath out slowly, Sam returned to his letter. He wanted Ms Gibbons to believe he had enjoyed his first day at Hogwarts and, truth be told, although it had had its ups and downs, it hadn't been too bad. He left out the events of the night before, sure that his father would have told the elderly witch anyway and finished his letter.

'I'll send you another letter at the end of the week to tell you more.

Sam'

Rolling the piece of parchment up, Sam pulled back the curtains and, checking his watch, decided he had enough time to run up to the Owlery before bed. Walking quickly out to the common room, Sam forced himself to be deaf to any of the other Slytherins' taunts as he quickly left. Striding down the cool, damp corridor, Sam froze in place when he heard his name snapped out from behind him.

"Winchester! What are you doing sneaking around the halls at this hour?"

Professor Snape loomed over the boy menacingly. Sam took a deep breath. He wasn't doing anything wrong and it wasn't too late to be out.

"I just wanted to take this letter to the Owlery," he told his Head of House, "It's for Ms Gibbons, she's our neighbour and-"

"Be quick about it!" Snape snapped and swept past Sam and down the hall.

The boy picked up his pace as he headed towards the West Tower.

Sam's journey to the Owlery was quiet; he met neither student nor ghost on his way. At this time in the evening, the castle was deserted, with many of its corridors darkened.

The Owlery was cold and drafty, its slit-windows glassless, the floor covered in owl droppings, the air sounding with a soft hooting and rustling of wings.

Sam peered around at the different owls peering down at him from the rafter or flying through the windows either to or returning from a hunt.

Stepping towards a small barn owl perched on a low rafter; Sam quickly tied his letter to Ms Gibbons to its leg. The owl fluttered to the sill of the nearest window and without a second glance, flew out and away towards Hogsmeade village.

Sam stood at the window for a moment, watching the owl wing its way over the Forbidden Forest before he turned, nearly slipping in droppings and headed back downstairs.

The trip back to the Slytherin common room was a bit more engaging than the one to the Owlery. Going down a second-floor corridor, Sam stumbled upon Peeves the Poltergeist dismantling one of the suits of armour.

"What's a wee widdle first-year doing all alone?" Peeves asked, flying up to Sam and hovering right in front of him.

"Just went to the Owlery," Sam told him calmly.

"A likely story," Peeves replied and cackled, "Come here and help me with this armour."

The poltergeist zoomed back to the half-built suit of armour, picked up the helmet and began chasing after Sam with it.

"Come back! Come back! I want to see if this fits on your head!"

The eleven-year-old pelted down the corridor as fast as he could and soon Peeves' voice grew distant and eventually, Sam slowed down.

Walking slowly, reluctantly, back to his common room, Sam let his mind wander. For a few minutes, the only sound was the thud of his trainers on the stone floor of the corridor.

"Sam?"

Turning around to see his father holding a bucket of Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover in one hand and a mop in the other.

"Dad," Sam replied, feeling surprised to see John.

"What are you doing here?" the eleven-year-old asked.

John's mouth twitched, "I work here."

Sam nodded, feeling his cheeks burn.

"What are you doing out of your dormitory?" his father asked, leaning the mop against the wall and setting the can of cleaner on the stone floor.

"I just went to send a letter to Ms Gibbons," Sam told him.

"How was your first day of classes?" John asked.

"Good," Sam lied, "I like all my lessons."

His father smiled, looking relieved.

"Keep your nose clean," he told Sam, bending down to pick up the can of cleaner.

"I will," Sam assured him, grinning back at his Dad but again feeling his cheeks heat up with a blush. His father hadn't mentioned his fight with Marcus Flint during the welcoming feast the day before but he didn't have to; Sam knew exactly what John meant.

Waving goodbye to his father, Sam picked up his pace as he headed back towards his dormitory, reluctant to meet anyone else in the corridors.

Soon enough Sam had reached the blank space of stone wall where the hidden opening to the Slytherin common room was. He quickly muttered the password and stepped inside.

The common room was blissfully empty. It seemed that everyone else had turned in for the night.

Not yet ready to sleep. Sam took a seat on one of the black leather armchairs in front of the fireplace and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth from the flames to wash over him.

W

Tuesday morning Sam was startled awake by the sound of loud voices laughing and chatting close to him.

Sitting up, he blinked, realizing belatedly that he had fallen asleep in the common room; on the chair he had been sitting on the night before.

"Oh you're awake," a voice drawled from behind Sam and turning in his seat, he saw Malfoy, ready to head down to the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Thought you were going to sleep all day," Malfoy commented, "Sawing logs like you were."

Then, the blond-haired boy tilted his head back, opened his mouth and made an exaggerated snoring sound; Crabbe and Goyle chuckling thickly.

"See you in class, Winchester," Malfoy waved at Sam as he and his cronies stepped through the hidden opening to the common room.

Sighing, the eleven-year-old stood and grimaced as his back let his spasm of pain. Cautiously, he made his way into the boy's dormitory to dress and gather his textbooks, quills and parchment for the day's classes.

Walking down the row of four-posters to his own, Sam crouched down at the foot of his bed and opened his trunk.

"What?!" the boy exclaimed as he let the lid of his trunk fall back against the end of the mattress.

The night before, Sam had folded his robes neatly before leaving them on the top of the pile of his possessions in his trunk. This morning, the robes were unfolded unceremoniously, barely hiding the mess beneath them.

Picking up the robes and dropping them on the floor, Sam saw that all his textbooks were gone. Digging down to the very bottom of his trunk, Sam confirmed that his books were indeed missing. As well as his books, he was also missing his extra quills and parchment. The only items it seemed to have remained were his clothes and whatever had been left in his messenger bag.

For a split second, Sam wondered what had happened and then it dawned on him: Draco Malfoy.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam grabbed a jumper, a pair of jeans and his now wrinkled robes, changing quickly before picking up his bag and leaving the dormitory.

Slinging the strap of his back over his shoulder, Sam left the common room and walked quickly to the Great Hall.

Instead of going to the Slytherin table, Sam sat down with the Gryffindors.

"Hi, Sam," Ron greeted him around a mouthful of kippers.

Sam didn't reply but began spooning oatmeal onto his plate.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"Malfoy," Sam growled.

"What about him?" Ron asked, swallowing his food and turning to peer across the hall to the Slytherin table.

"He stole my books and parchment and quills," Sam told him, "They were in my trunk and now they're gone."

"How do you know it was him?" Harry asked.

"Who else could it be?" Sam muttered, stirring his porridge without eating it.

"Tell Snape what's happened," Ron suggested, "He may be a git but he can't allow that sort of thing to happen in his own House."

"I don't know," Sam told him, looking up at the teacher's table, catching sight of his Head of House talking with Professor Flitwick.

"I'm already in trouble," he reminded Ron.

"I have some extra parchment if you need it," Harry offered from Ron's other side.

"Really?" Sam asked. This boy barely knew him and was offering to share his school supplies with him.

"Sure," Harry smiled, "Here."

Pulling his own bag up onto the bench, Harry dug inside it for a moment before taking out a roll of parchment.

"I'll replace it when I get the chance," Sam told him.

Harry shrugged, "That's okay."

Sam smiled and spooned oatmeal into his mouth.

W

Sam struggled during classes that day, without his textbooks to refer to, but he refused to say anything, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing he had dealt a blow.

Relief washed over the eleven-year-old once the bell rang to signal the end of classes and Sam headed gratefully to the Great Hall for dinner.

Sam waved to Ron, Harry and Dean as he passed the Gryffindor table and headed across the hall towards where the Slytherins sat.

He didn't really want to eat with his fellow Slytherins but he knew he couldn't keep avoiding them. Taking a seat gingerly along the bench, Sam purposefully kept his gaze averted from Malfoy and his gang.

Piling heaps of mashed potato onto his plate, the eleven-year-old waited for the others to notice he was at the table.

Within minutes the blond-haired boy's drawling voice floated down the table to where Sam sat pouring gravy on his potatoes.

"What happened to your school supplies, Winchester?"

Sam shoved a forkful of potato into his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to ignore the other boy's taunts, telling himself that Malfoy wasn't worth it.

"Did you lose them?"

"Maybe it's a sign you shouldn't be here!" Pansy Parkinson's voice joined Malfoy's, "Maybe it's a sign you should go back to where you came from!"

Hands shaking slightly, Sam slid a couple of sausages from their platter onto his place and began to slice them up viciously.

I do deserve to be here, Sam told himself, as much as any of them.

"Winchester!" Malfoy called but Sam ignored him.

"WINCHESTER!"

After a few minutes of failing to get Sam to look up, Draco turned his attention to other things.

Eating quickly, Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down to the Slytherin common room. He was one of the first to arrive at the dormitory and when he approached his bed, he noticed a lumpy shape beneath his sheets. Cautious, wondering if it was part of some prank set by his fellows, Sam pulled the sheets up to discover the odd shape was, in fact, his missing textbooks, quills, ink and parchment. A note had been Spellotaped to the cover of Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. Pulling the note off, Sam held it close to his face as he read

'Pansy was hiding these in the girls' dormitory. I think they're yours.'

There was no name on the note but Sam had an idea of who had returned his stolen items. Smiling, Sam packed his supplies back into his trunk before locking it securely.

He just might have found that one friend Professor McGonagall had spoken about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracy Davis is not an Original Character of mine. Although she is not in the books, she was mentioned in 'Harry Potter and Me', which was a special television interview with J.K. Rowling where she showed her notes on the Harry Potter series back in December of 2001.
> 
> Please take a moment to leave kudos or a comment if you are enjoying this story and I will try and update again soon.


	10. Friends

Wednesday morning dawned overcast and chilly, the boys' dormitory dark from the lack of sunlight slanting down through the Black Lake.

Sam woke early and dressed quietly, not wanting to disturb the others. Pulling on a brown sweatshirt and blue jeans before yanking his robes over his head, Sam picked up his bag and headed out of the dormitory, through the deserted common room and into the corridor.

Although he was one of the first students to arrive at the Great Hall, food was already available and Sam sat down gratefully to a plate of eggs and bacon.

As Sam ate he watched the hall slowly but steadily fill up with students. Draco Malfoy stepped up to the Slytherin table some five minutes after Sam had arrived, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Thankfully, the blond boy's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere and he made no indication he had noticed Sam at all, though his cronies were eyeing him curiously.

Within fifteen minutes, the Great Hall was packed with cheerful students, calling out to their friends in other Houses, scarfing down breakfast before rushing to the library or their first class of the day.

Sam, munching on a piece of buttered toast, jumped slightly as someone sat beside him and he tensed, waiting for some taunt or snide remark.

"Hi," a girl's voice said and Sam turned to see Tracy Davis sitting on his right.

"Uh… hi," Sam swallowed his toast and smiled a little.

Tracy poured herself a goblet of milk from the pitcher on the table and took a drink.

"Bit of a gloomy day, isn't it?" Tracy commented, picking up a scone and biting into it.

"Yeah," Sam replied, shoving the last piece of toast into his mouth.

"Marcus Flint shouldn't have said what he did," Tracy told him from around a mouthful of scone, "I'd have done the same thing if I were you."

Sam shrugged and took a gulp of pumpkin juice before answering.

"Lot of good it did," he muttered, "They still tease me and now I've got detention to look forward to."

Before Tracy could respond, Pansy Parkinson let out a shrill peal of laughter. Both Sam and Tracy turned to look in that direction; the other first-year girls surrounded the pug-faced girl.

"Why aren't you over there with them?" Sam asked.

Tracy made a face and pushed her wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose.

"Daphne's okay," she commented airily, "but I can't stand all their pure-blood nonsense."

Sam looked at Tracy, his mouth open slightly, "You're not a pure-blood."

The girl snorted, "My Dad works for the Ministry but Mum's a Muggle. Until my brother got his letter, Dad had her convinced he worked for the Prime Minister."

Sam peered at the upper-year Slytherin boys, trying to see if he could tell which one was Tracy's brother.

As though reading his mind, Tracy said, "Roger's not a Slytherin. He's in Ravenclaw."

Pointing across the Great Hall, Sam followed her finger and saw a handsome boy with dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes talking animatedly with a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

Sam turned back to Tracy, taking in her mousy-brown hair and chocolate-coloured eyes with a new appreciation. He wasn't the only half-blood in Slytherin; he wasn't the only sibling to be sorted into a different house as his older brother.

"Dad was sure I'd be Ravenclaw too," Tracy continued, turning back to her half-eaten scone, "Or even Gryffindor. He was a bit shocked to here I was placed in Slytherin."

Sam nodded, cramming another slice of toast into his mouth.

"But he knows me," Tracy smiled slightly, "Knows I'd never turn out like that lot."

She jabbed her thumb in the direction of Pansy and her group of girls.

For a moment she said nothing but then, quietly, added, "You're not the only one being given a hard time."

Sam glanced at Tracy from the corner of his eye as the bell rang to signal the end of breakfast. He could only imagine Pansy Parkinson and the others being mean to her when they were all in the girls' dormitory together.

Tracy stood abruptly, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

"Come on, we don't want to be late for Charms."

Sam followed obediently, grinning as they left the Great Hall.

W

The Slytherins had Charms with the Gryffindors so as soon as Sam saw Ron and Harry; he instantly went over to sit with them. Dropping his bag on a chair, he noticed Tracy hanging back.

"Come sit with us," Sam encouraged, smiling at her and Tracy smiled back.

Ron and Harry both greeted her in a friendly enough manner as Sam introduced them.

Tracy, upon learning Harry's last name, sat agog for a moment before realizing she was staring and blushed, ducking her head so her hair screened her face.

"Sorry," She muttered, "Its just… wow. My Dad's told my brother and I all about you… what you did and I never though I'd get to meet you."

Harry nodded, "That's okay. I'm getting used to it… Sort of…"

The rest of their conversation was halted when Professor Flitwick began the class.

W

"I think I sprained my wrist," Ron complained as they walked out of the classroom an hour later, holding his right wrist in his left hand and grimacing.

"Well," stated a bossy voice from behind them, "You shouldn't have been flapping your hand around so much, should you?"

All four of them turned to see a girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth walking right behind them.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Ron snapped a little too forcefully. The girl stuck her nose up and pushed between Sam and Tracy, striding down the corridor ahead of them without looking back.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked curiously.

"Who cares?" Ron muttered.

"Should you go to the Hospital Wing?" Sam asked his friend.

"Nah, I think I'll be okay," Ron commented, still nursing his arm, "We've got History of Magic next so I can rest my wrist up a bit."

It was true, within five minutes of the class starting; Professor Binns' monotonous voice had lulled ninety-nine percent of his students into dull-eyed stupor. Ron, who had taken out parchment and quill had seemed to completely have forgotten he was supposed to be taking notes and stared dreamily at the chalkboard behind the ghostly teacher.

Sam, despite how boring Professor Binns' voice was, could not help but be distracted by something else in the classroom. Pansy Parkinson, Milicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass and Lily Moon were all staring raptly at Sam and Tracy and pouting their lips and making kissing noises between fits of silent giggles.

Feeling his face grow red, Sam abruptly turned around and tried unsuccessfully to force his brain to concentrate on Professor Binns' lecture.

If the girls' teasing bothered Tracy, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

W

The bell rang to signal the end of class and Sam said goodbye to Ron and Harry, walking with Tracy towards the Great Hall and the Slytherin table.

Sitting down side-by-side at the far end of the table, the boy and the girl occupied themselves momentarily with filling their plates with food. Sam scooped a couple spoonfuls of shepherd's pie onto his plate and poured pumpkin juice into his goblet. Tracy opted for Irish stew and Yorkshire pudding.

"What do you think Astronomy will be like?" Sam asked through a mouthful of pie.

Tracy, cutting up her Yorkshire puddings, thought for a moment, "Roger says it can be pretty boring. All you do is stare at the night sky and write down the positions of the stars and planets and things."

Swallowing, Sam shrugged, "But we get to use telescopes; that's pretty cool."

Tracy smiled, "I guess it is."

"Tracy and Whiny sitting in a tree!" a singsong voice called from the far end of the table, stopping Sam and Tracy's conversation.

"Whiny?" Sam muttered as they both peered at Pansy Parkinson, Lily Moon and Milicent Bulstrode reciting the playground rhyme together.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First come love then comes-"

Sam snorted into his shepherd's pie and Tracy shook her head.

"How old are they?" she muttered.

Finishing their lunch, the two friends stood and grabbed their bags, leaving the Great Hall and heading to their next class.

W

Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls continued their attempt to get under Sam and Tracy's skin with their singing until they were silenced by a very irritated Professor McGonagall who took five points from the House and had the group split up to finish their notes on transfiguring pebbles into peas.

Sam and Tracy sat right up front during Defense Against the Dark Arts simply to distance themselves from the Slytherin girls who chose to remain in the back row of the classroom.

While listening to Professor Quirrell stammer his way through a lecture on ghouls, a Ravenclaw student poked Sam in the back.

Turning around, he was handed a piece of parchment. Frowning, Sam peered curiously at the girl who had given it to him. She shrugged and muttered that it had been passed up from the back of the classroom.

Lifting his gaze, Sam saw Pansy and her group of girls struggling to keep their laughter in.

"M-Mr. W-Winch-Winchester," Professor Quirrell's voice spoke from right in front of Sam's desk.

Turning to face the teacher, Sam tried to hide the note but it was too late.

"Wha-What do you ha-have there?" the professor held out his hand expectantly.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, shoving the paper into the pocket of his robes.

"L-Let me s-see," Quirrell insisted.

Glancing at Tracy from the corner of his eye, Sam pulled the piece of paper back out and dropped it onto the teacher's hand.

Sam watched in horror as Professor Quirrell unfolded the piece of parchment to reveal too poorly drawn stick figures with the words 'Whiny loves Davis' scrawled above them, surrounded by hearts.

"I didn't do that," Sam told the teacher as Quirrell pulled out his wand and incinerated the paper with a quick flick of his wrist.

"T-Ten p-points from Sl-Slytherin," the teacher announced, "And you c-can le-leave my c-classroom if y-you'd rather draw c-cartoons th-than listen."

"I don't want to go," Sam argued, well aware that everyone was listening to their exchange.

Professor Quirrell didn't respond but simply looked at him. Sighing, Sam shoved his parchment and textbook into his bag and stood.

"See you at dinner," he muttered to Tracy, walking quickly down the aisle between the desks. Pansy and the other Slytherin girls' laughter followed him out into the corridor and he slammed the door behind him.

Storming down the hallway, furious, Sam found the library and stepped inside. There were a few older students- upper year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs- but they were either bent over their homework or leafing through books and none of them took any notice of him as he slid up to a table and sat down heavily, dropping his bag onto the floor beside him.

Propping his chin up with one fist, the eleven-year-old mulled over the events of the past three days: first there had been the fight with Marcus Flint at the Welcoming Feast, then Draco Malfoy stealing his school supplies, then Tracy returning them and then talking to him at breakfast and sitting next to him during lessons… as miserable as the week had started, it certainly was improving. Sam now had another Slytherin to lean on; he wasn't alone in a House surrounded by boys and girls who seemed to hate him just because his blood wasn't as 'pure' as theirs.

Thinking he could get a head start on his Transfiguration homework before the weekend, Sam opened his bag and pulled out his copy of A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill.

Just as Sam was about to write his first sentence of an essay discussing the fundamentals of Transfiguration for McGonagall, someone sat down heavily in the chair beside his. Looking up, the boy was surprised to see Tracy grinning at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring the ink dripping onto his piece of parchment.

"Quirrell kicked me out," she told him with a smile, taking her glasses off and cleaning them on the hem of her robes.

"What for?"

"I told him you didn't draw that picture," Tracy replaced her glasses and began digging in her bag.

"You didn't," Sam argued, feeling his face growing hot.

"I simply told him the truth," Tracy replied, "But he didn't believe me either. He told me to leave."

"He didn't take anymore points away from Slytherin did he?" Sam asked even though he didn't really care about winning the House Cup. It was only the first week of classes and they had months to gain points.

Tracy shook her head, "No, but I got detention."

Sam stared at her, wide-eyed.

Tracy laughed and shook her head, "Don't do that, you're the one who got a detention before school even started."

Sam glanced down, his cheeks red.

"I just couldn't let Quirrell think you were fooling around in class when you weren't," Tracy admitted, "That wasn't right and someone needed to speak up."

Sam crumpled up his ink-spattered piece of parchment and pulled out a new piece before saying anything.

"Thanks," he muttered, dipping his quill into his bottle of ink again, "For sticking up for me."

Tracy smiled and reached over, giving Sam a one-armed hug before starting in on her own Transfigurations essay.

W

At midnight, Sam, Tracy and the rest of the first-year Slytherins, along with the first-year Gryffindors headed up to roof to have their first Astronomy lesson.

It was much colder than Sam had expected and he wished he'd thought to bring a hat and mittens as he divided his attention between looking through his telescope and marking the locations of celestial bodies on his star chart.

The lesson was as dull as Tracy's brother had warned, since the planets moved so slowly, there wasn't really much to see up in the night sky, though Professor Sinistra seemed to think her subject was the most fascinating all those taught at Hogwarts.

The most action Sam had was when he left his telescope unattended for a moment or two to mark down where Jupiter was or to draw a diagram of Ursa Major and he had to spend an exorbitant amount of time looking through the glass to find where he had been looking as the telescope tended to swing downwards if he wasn't holding onto it.

Yawning, heading back down to their dungeon common room, Sam squinted at his star chart.

"I think I messed up on Cassiopeia," he muttered to Tracy, "She's all wonky."

His friend peered at his paper, "Can't be any worse than my Orion."

"We'll have to fix these in the morning," Sam rolled up the parchment and followed the rest of the first-years into their common room and, gratefully, back into the boys' dormitory to sleep the rest of the night away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave a comment or kudos if you're enjoying this story. Thanks!  
> Lily Moon, mentioned but briefly during the Sorting in 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone', was not designated to a specific House so I added her to Slytherin.


	11. Detention

Thursday passed by in a blur of lessons (History of Magic and Charms in the morning and Herbology and Transfiguration after lunch) and homework.

It was nearly midnight by the time Sam said goodnight to Tracy and headed into the boy's dormitory. He supposed he could have finished his schoolwork on during the weekend but he still had Snape's detention looming over his head and wasn't sure how long that would take. Better to be safe than sorry and finish his homework early.

W

Friday morning Sam and Tracy walked down to the Great Hall together but instead of sitting at the Slytherin table, they headed towards where the Gryffindors were, on the opposite side of the massive room.

"Mor' in'," Ron greeted from around a mouthful of toast and poached egg.

"Did you see the timetable for today?" Sam asked his friend.

"Why? What have we got today?" Harry asked curiously.

The redheaded boy pulled his timetable from his bag and groaned, "Double potions with the Slytherins this afternoon."

"Sorry," he added quickly to Tracy and Sam who shrugged.

"Snape favors his House above all others," Ron added, glancing up at the professor sitting in between McGonagall and Flitwick.

Sam snorted into his scrambled eggs. Yeah, Snape really favored him all right.

"Wish McGonagall favored us," Harry muttered, "She gave us a pile of homework yesterday."

The conversation ended as hundreds of owls streamed into the Hall, fluttering down onto the tables in front of the students who had letters or packages from home, narrowly missing dishes and bowls of food.

Sam glanced up automatically, wondering if Ms Gibbons would send him a letter back. A large Screech owl landed in front of Tracy with a letter and a small package, nearly knocking over a jar of marmalade as it did so.

Harry's own owl, a gorgeous snowy named Hedwig, landed in front of the Boy Who Lived, and dropped a note onto his plate.

Sam distracted by Tracy as she read her letter and unwrapped her package to reveal a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, didn't hear Ron and Harry talking about the note he had received.

"Can Sam come too? His Dad's good friends with Hagrid," Ron was saying and the boy turned to his friend.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"The Gameskeeper," Ron explained, "Hagrid- he's invited Harry to tea. He said I could come too."

"Your Dad knows Hagrid?" Harry asked, looking somewhat surprised at this revelation.

Sam nodded, "My Dad's the caretaker here."

"I didn't know that," Harry commented.

Sam shrugged to let him know it wasn't a big deal.

"You can totally come as well," Harry smiled, "You too, Tracy, if you like."

"Thanks," the girl smiled and pushed her glasses higher up her nose.

The bell rang to signal that classes were about to start and grudgingly, the four friends stood up, gathered up their bags and headed out of the Great Hall for their first lesson of the day.

W

The potions classroom was as cold as Snape's office had been on the night of the Welcome feast. Sam and Tracy sat close together, eager to start the class if only to have a fire beneath their cauldron for warmth. Sam didn't want to think of what it would be like in the dead of winter.

Decorated in the same fashion as the Potion Master's office had been- with jars of floating dead things- Sam was unpleasantly reminded he had yet to serve detention with his Head of House.

Professor Snape dressed in all-black robes, swept into the classroom brusquely, closing the door with a snap behind him as he strode to the front of the room and stood behind his desk. Picking up a piece of parchment, he began reading students' names aloud; taking attendance.

When he came to Harry's name, he paused, intoning, "Ah yes… Harry Potter. Our new- celebrity."

Sam heard Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle snigger from where they sat nearby and frowned. He didn't think it was very funny.

Snape continued calling students' names and Sam unconsciously slouched lower in his seat when the professor read his name and looked directly at him, his black eyes seeming to bore right through him.

Once he had ascertained that everyone who was supposed to be in class was, Snape went on to describe what his lessons would entail. Everyone stared at him, as he spoke softly, no one daring to move it seemed.

Sam wasn't sure he'd be any good at potion making. He was just squeaking by in the other subjects so far. It seemed that his best was Herbology but that was only because he followed Professor Sprout's instructions when his classmates- Malfoy and his cronies in particular- hadn't thought it important to pay attention.

"Potter!" Snape called out suddenly, making Sam jump, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry looked as confused as Sam felt. They hadn't even started learning anything and Snape was expecting him to know the answer to that?

Hermione Granger, however, had her hand in the air. She clearly knew more than anyone else in the classroom and seemed eager to prove it. Snape didn't even glance at her as she sat on the edge of her seat.

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.

Snape sneered, "Tut, tut-fame clearly isn't everything."

"Let's try again," he said and his dark eyes scanned the faces of the children in front of him.

"Winchester, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Sam wanted nothing more than to disappear. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. Malfoy and his friends were giggling again, barely able to contain their laughter.

"A goat stomach," Tracy whispered from beside him, barely moving her mouth.

"In a goat?" Sam answered quickly, his heart pounding.

Snape said nothing but turned his gaze back to Harry. Sam let out a breath and smiled at Tracy in thanks.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione Granger, who had had her hand up the entire time Snape was grilling Sam and Harry with questions, now looked as though she was struggling to keep silent and not blurt the answer out for herself.

Harry replied that he did not know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane but that it looked like Hermione knew the answers.

"Put your hand down," Snape snapped at the girl, and, glowering at Harry, told him the answers to all three questions he had asked. Then, he took five points from Gryffindor for what he called 'cheek'.

Now the real lesson began; Snape divided them into pairs- Sam luckily got to stay with Tracy- and told them they would be making a simple potion to cure boils.

As he and Tracy measured and cut and diced and crushed their ingredients for their potion, Sam had to admit that it wasn't as bad as he feared. If it wasn't for Snape breathing down everyone's neck and criticizing him or her.

"Those fangs are not nearly fine enough," Snape hissed from over Sam's shoulder, "But add them, if you wish to poison your classmates."

The boy hunched his shoulders and poured the fangs back into the stone mortar and picked up the pestle.

"Don't listen to him," Tracy muttered as she carefully weighed a handful of dried nettles, "The fangs are fine."

Snape strode across the classroom to check on Malfoy's potion, praising the way he had stewed his horned slugs. Sam rolled his eyes and tipped his fangs into the cauldron when suddenly a cloud of acid green smoke and hissing noise filled the dungeon.

Turning in his seat, Sam saw that one of the Gryffindor students- a boy named Neville Longbottom- had somehow managed to melt his partner's cauldron into a twisted hunk of metal. Their potion was leaking all over the desk and onto the floor, scorching the stones and burning through people's shoes.

Sam pulled his legs up automatically and watched helplessly as Neville moaned in pain from being drenched in the leaking potion.

Snape was at the boys' side in moments, a look of the utmost anger on his face.

"Idiot boy!" he seethed, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville nodded stiffly as boils appeared all over his face. His hands were already red and bubbling with large boils from being soaked with the defective potion.

Snape told Neville's partner to take him to the hospital wing before turning on Harry and Ron, who had been beside them. The professor accused Harry of not telling Neville how to add the ingredients correctly because he thought it would make him look better and took another point from Gryffindor.

With a wave of his wand, Snape siphoned up the spilled potion and demanded the remaining students continue to finish their own.

W

At five to three, the class ended. Sam grabbed his bag and was just about to follow Tracy out the door when Snape called him back.

Grimacing, Sam paused.

"See you later," Tracy muttered.

"Meet us at Hagrid's," Ron told him as he, Harry and Tracy left the classroom.

Sighing, Sam turned around and walked past the tables to where Snape was sitting behind his desk.

"Forgot about detention, did you Winchester?" he asked.

"No," Sam muttered.

"After dinner tonight you will come to my office for your detention," Snape told him.

"What am I going to be doing?" Sam asked.

The professor's lip curled and Sam regretted his question.

"That remains to be seen," Snape replied, "Now get out."

Sam didn't have to be asked twice. He walked as quickly as he dared without running out of the classroom and down the hallway until he reached a staircase leading upwards.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he stepped outside onto the sundrenched grounds of the school. It seemed that other first years had also got out of classes early and Sam saw Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students he recognized, as well as Gryffindors- including Neville Longbottom who was now effectively boil-free- and even Draco Malfoy and his cronies enjoying the warm evening sun.

Hagrid's hut was located on the far side of the grounds, right up against the Forbidden Forest. Sam had never been inside but he knew exactly where to find it as his Dad had pointed it out to him on numerous occasions.

Stepping up to the wooden hut, Sam noticed there was a large crossbow and a pair of very muddy galoshes sitting beside the door.

Raising a fist, Sam knocked sharply against the door and heard Hagrid's boarhound, Fang, give a couple of booming barks from inside.

"Back, Fang- I said get back!" Hagrid's gruff voice approached the door for a moment before it was flung open and the school's groundskeeper stood there, smiling.

"Sam!" he greeted and stepped out of the way to let the boy inside.

Stepping into the cabin, Sam grinned at the sight of Harry, Ron and Tracy all sitting at the rough-carved wooden table with a plate of rock cakes in between them.

"I was jus' about to put the kettle on," Hagrid announced, "Fancy a cup o' tea?"

"Sure," Sam replied and sat down on the same seat as Tracy who inched along to make room for him.

"How's yer firs' week been?" Hagrid asked, his back turned to the group of eleven-year olds, "I see yer making friends."

Sam smiled slightly, embarrassed.

"I'm pretty good at Herbology," he told the groundskeeper, "But rubbish at anything else."

"I doubt that," Hagrid commented, turning around and passing out four clay mugs.

Sam shrugged, "Potions is okay, I guess."

"Too bad Snape doesn't like you," Ron added, "And you're in his own House!"

"What're you talking about?" Hagrid asked, pouring hot water into the mugs, forgetting the tea bags.

Harry spoke up, explaining how the potions master had put both him and Sam on the spot during their first ever class with him.

"Snape's not too friendly with many students, I wouldn't worry about it," Hagrid told them but Sam couldn't quite meet his gaze, thinking about the scene he had made during the Welcoming Feast.

"How's Charlie?" Hagrid changed the subject, focusing his attention on Ron, "I always liked him- great with animals."

The redheaded boy quickly latched onto the topic, talking all about his elder brother's work with dragons in Romania.

As Ron talked and talked, Harry eased a piece of paper out from beneath a tea cozy- an article cut from a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"What's that?" Sam asked, leaning over to read over Harry's shoulder.

As Sam read the article, he felt Tracy edge closer as well, her breath warm against his ear.

"Hey!" Harry cried excitedly, "The breakout at Gringotts happened on the same day we were there, Hagrid!"

"Huh?" Hagrid grunted, "Want another rock cake?"

Sam lifted his gaze to the groundskeeper as Harry read the article again.

Hagrid didn't look at them but busied himself with feeding cordwood to the fire.

W

Sam picked dispiritedly at the roast beef, gravy and Yorkshire pudding on his plate. He was dreading his detention with Snape.

Tracy was sympathetic to his plight but still managed to eat all of the fried tomatoes, steak and chips on her plate and apple pie when the dessert items appeared as the crumbs from dinner vanished.

W

With a stomach empty of everything but nerves, Sam left the warmth and glow of the Great Hall for the damp and gloom of the lower levels of the castle, walking ever downward until he was standing in front of the door to Snape's office.

Raising a hand, Sam knocked on the wooden door twice, heard a cold voice on the other side intone 'enter' and turned the doorknob.

Professor Snape was sitting behind his desk, grading essays. He didn't even look up when Sam stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"You will be cleaning those cauldrons over there," he pointed with his quill to a pile of pewter cauldrons stacked haphazardly on a desk in one corner of the room, "Without magic."

Well, it could be worse, Sam thought and made his way over to the cauldrons and sat down at the desk, pulling one towards him and picking up a rag.

Peering into the cauldron, the eleven-year old groaned. Whoever's cauldron this belonged to was not very adept at potions- the bottom was caked in a thick, sticky mess that smelt strongly of rotten eggs.

Grimacing, Sam set to work, telling himself the faster he cleaned the cauldrons the sooner he could leave Snape's office.

W

At a quarter to midnight, Sam shoved the final cauldron aside and dropped the rag onto the desk.

Snape paused with his quill poised above an essay.

"You're finished," he stated.

Sam nodded, massaging his aching hand.

The potions master stood up and strode over to the pile of sparkling cauldrons. Peering down his hooked nose at the cauldrons, Snape sniffed.

"You may go," he told Sam and the boy stood quickly, hurried out of the office as fast as he could without actually running.

Ten minutes later Sam fell gratefully into bed, yanked the curtains closed and was asleep before his head hit his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave kudos or a comment if you're enjoying this story!


	12. Victims and Visions

Saturday morning Sam woke early. He lay on his back in bed for a moment, the green curtains around his bed hiding the dormitory but he could hear the breathing and snores coming from the other boys to tell him he wasn't alone.

Quietly, he sat up, yanked the curtains to one side and moved to the trunk at the end of his bed to pick out clothes. Once dressed, Sam crept past Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, and the others and headed into the Common Room.

"Morning," a voice startled Sam as he stepped into the room and he glanced around to see Tracy sitting on the black leather couch, a book on her lap.

"Hi," Sam greeted, relaxing and smiled, "Why are you up so early?"

Tracy shrugged, "I could ask you the same thing."

"Want to get some breakfast?" Sam asked. The girl nodded and closed her book, holding it under her arm as she stood.

"What are you reading?" Sam asked as they left the Slytherin dormitory.

"This? I picked it up from the Library the other day. It's about the witch trials that happened in the United States back in the seventeenth century. It's fascinating. I think you'd like it."

"Cool," Sam agreed.

The Great Hall wasn't as crowded as Sam had expected. He guessed that most of the students were sleeping in or had already come and gone, and were now working on homework.

He and Tracy sat at the Slytherin table, which was nearly empty but for some older students picking blearily at their breakfasts.

Sam glanced over at the Gryffindor table, searching for Dean or Ron, as he grabbed a crumpet off a platter and began smearing lemon curd on it.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked Tracy as she daintily picked up a piece of bacon.

"I need to finish my homework," she reminded him.

Sam sighed, "Right."

Tracy smiled and pushed her glasses up her thin nose, "But I want to go outside to do it."

Sam smiled.

"Do you know how to play Gobstones?" she asked Sam.

He shook his head, "I only have an old Wizard's Chess set at home. I used to play it with Ms Gibbons because Dean thought it was boring."

"Who's Ms Gibbons?" Tracy asked, slicing up a fried egg.

"Our neighbour," Sam explained, "She used to look after Dean and me when we were younger."

The girl nodded, "I'll teach you how to play Gobstones. It's pretty fun. Roger thinks it's lame but that's only because he doesn't think about anything but Quidditch."

Sam chuckled, "He sounds just like Dean."

W

Finished breakfast, Sam and Tracy returned to their Common Room so she could go and get her Gobstones set.

Now that it was a little later in the morning, the rest of the Slytherins were starting to make an appearance, namely the other first years.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in all black and flanked on either side by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stepped out of the doorway to their dormitory and caught sight of Sam.

"Oh, you're still here are you?" he drawled. His cronies chuckled.

"Yeah," Sam replied, "What else were you expecting?"

Malfoy frowned slightly, "Don't you talk back to me!"

"I got them, Sam!" Tracy's voice rang out as she ran from the girls' dormitory, clutching a wooden box to her chest.

Sam stood and moved to Tracy's side. He smiled at Malfoy.

"Have a good breakfast," he called as he turned and left the Common Room.

As he and Tracy walked down the hall, she peered over her shoulder.

"What was that about?"

"Just Malfoy being Malfoy," Sam muttered.

"Glad you came out when you did," he added, "He looked ready to jinx me."

Tracy smiled, "I'd like to see him try. We've barely learned any spells. He'd be hard-pressed to turn your head into a cantaloupe or something like that."

Sam glanced at her, eyes wide, "You can do that?"

Tracy shook her head, smiling.

They headed outside and were greeted with a warm, sunny morning. Many other students from other Houses were taking advantage of the pleasant weather as well and were walking along the edge of the Black Lake, sitting beneath trees with books, or laying on the lawn watching the clouds drift past.

"Come here!" Tracy grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him towards a stone bench a trio of Ravenclaws had just vacated. Tracy sat on one side of the bench and Sam on the other, watching her curiously as she opened the box that held her Gobstones, to reveal thirty marble-sized stones and a piece of white chalk. The stones were dull and chipped in places, fifteen of them made of a silvery metal and other fifteen made of an iridescent, white stone.

"These belonged to my Grandmother," Tracy explained, somewhat apologetically, "They're made of hematite and opal. Not the most expensive. I'd love a gold and silver set but Dad says its too much money, especially when this one is still good."

Sam reached out and picked up a hematite 'stone', "I think they're neat."

Tracy smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears. She picked up the piece of chalk and drew four circles on the stone bench, the middle small and the next three growing increasingly larger.

"I'll teach you classic Gobstones to start with," Tracy told Sam, as she dumped the other fourteen hematite stones into his hands.

They spent the next ten minutes or so playing Gobstones, Sam getting quite a shock the first time he lost a point to Tracy, only to have one of her stones squirt a foul-smelling liquid into his face.

Spluttering and wiping his face with his sleeve, he glared at the girl as she howled with laughter.

"I'm… I'm s-sorry!" Tracy apologized as she rocked back, unable to control her fits of laughter, "I sh-should ha-have told you!"

"Yeah, you should have," Sam muttered, but smiled, his friend's glee infectious.

"Awww isn't that sweet," a high-pitched voice nearby spoke up, "Whiny and Davis playing Gobstones together."

Tracy stopped laughing and looked around, spotting Pansy and her gang of girls nearby. Instantly, Tracy gathered the stones on the bench and dumped them into their box.

"Oh you don't have to go," Pansy called, "We won't interrupt."

Tracy stood up and started marching deeper into the school's grounds, not even looking at Sam.

"Tracy!" Sam called, catching up with her, "Hey! Are you okay?"

He noticed his friend lift the hand not holding her Gobstones box and wipe her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Stop," Sam reached out and touched her arm, "What's the matter? Just ignore them, okay?"

Tracy nodded, her eyes red.

"I was up so early because I just couldn't take it anymore," she confided, "Their teasing, I mean."

Sam bit his lip, "You should tell Snape. He can't let that happen."

"Are you going to tell him about Malfoy?" Tracy asked him.

Sam shook his head, "You're different. Snape doesn't hate you."

"He doesn't hate you," Tracy argued. Behind them, they could hear Pansy's shrieking laughter as one of the other Slytherin girls told her something funny.

"Wanna bet?" Sam muttered, "I feel like if I breathe too loudly in his class he'll put me in detention."

"That's ridiculous," Tracy told him.

"You were there when we had our first class," Sam told her pointedly, "You saw how he had it out for me and Harry."

The girl opened her mouth to argue again but then closed it.

"Maybe I should talk to him," she agreed.

"Let's go down to the lake for a bit," Sam changed the subject, catching sight of some first-year Hufflepuffs skipping stones into the water.

"Okay," Tracy said and followed Sam down to the narrow strip of sand that separated the lawn from the lake.

"Hi," Sam said to the Hufflepuffs, recognizing Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley from their first Herbology class.

The two ignored Sam and continued on with their conversation.

"Rude," Tracy muttered. Sam shrugged.

"Want to finish our game?" he suggested and after a moment Tracy agreed and set up her Gobstones again, drawing the circles in the sand with her finger.

They played quietly for a few minutes; Tracy getting a faceful of the foul liquid sprayed from Sam's stone until they were once again interrupted.

"Is that Gobstones?"

Sam looked up to see Hannah Abbott staring at them.

"Yes," Tracy told her, "Do you know how to play?"

Hannah shook her head, "I've heard about it though."

"I can teach you how if you'd like," Tracy offered.

The Hufflepuff girl shook her head again, her pink cheeks going red. She backed away, returning to Justin's side- who was completely absorbed in skipping stones on the lake- and turned her face away, muttering something they couldn't hear to the boy before they both moved farther down the shore.

"Do you think it's because we're Slytherins or because they think I'm going to go berserk and attack them?" Sam asked, trying not to sound too hurt.

"I don't know," Tracy muttered.

"Let's just go," Sam told her, dumping his stones into their box, not feeling much like playing anymore.

"I really should get started on my homework," Tracy told him.

Sam and Tracy started slowly back towards the school, subdued. Just as they had the door open to step back inside, a familiar red-haired boy nearly walked right into them.

"Sam!" Ron cried happily, "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Beside Ron Weasley stood Harry Potter; both boys smiling.

"You were?" Sam asked, allowing Harry and Ron to step outside and closing the door.

Ron nodded, "We thought you'd be in the Great Hall, but we couldn't see you so we hung around outside the dungeons."

"Didn't see you there either," Ron continued, "But we did see Malfoy."

Sam grimaced.

"Anyway, a bunch of older students are going to practice on the Quidditch pitch," Ron continued, "We thought you might want to come along."

"I have a ton of homework to do," Tracy told the boys.

Although Sam didn't care much about Quidditch, he was happy his friend had thought about him.

"You can finish your homework this evening," he told Tracy, "I'll even help you so it gets don't faster."

The girl hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Have you seen Dean?" Sam asked as he and Tracy followed Ron and Harry towards the Quidditch pitch.

"He was eating breakfast with Fred, George and Lee," Ron commented, "They were whispering about something. Didn't hear what it was though."

Sam shrugged and stepped onto the pitch where the Ravenclaw team and the Hufflepuff teams were getting ready to practice.

Tracy, holding her Gobstones box under her arm, waved to her brother, Roger, as he stood with his teammates, wearing royal blue robes.

"I can't wait until we're old enough to try out for the House teams," Ron said with longing in his voice.

Sam shrugged, "Better you than me."

"You don't want to try out?" Harry asked, "Ron told me your brother's on the team."

"Yeah," Sam replied, eyes following the players as they flew into the air, streaks of blue and yellow respectively, "He's a Chaser. He practically breathes Quidditch but Chess is more my speed."

The group watched the two teams practice until it was time for lunch.

"Your brother's pretty good," Ron told Tracy.

"I know," she muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose, "He's very proud of his flying."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Roger doesn't think much of schoolwork," Tracy explained, "Even though he is in Ravenclaw. He's hoping to join one of the national teams once he graduates."

"Well, that's a respectable job," Ron interrupted, "Better than some, innit?"

Tracy just shrugged.

"What do you want to do once we're done school?" Sam asked. Truth be told, he hadn't even thought once what he might want to do after he left Hogwarts. It seemed like he had loads of time before he had to make that decision.

"I think I'd like to be a Healer," Tracy told them, "And work at St Mungo's."

"What's St Mungo's?" Harry asked, "Is it like a hospital?"

Sam nodded, "It is, but for witches and wizards. They can't really go to muggle hospitals if they drink a bad potion or if a magical creature attacks them. It's in London, hidden, of course, like Diagon Alley."

"Instead of doctors and nurses," Tracy continued, "They have Healers."

The Boy Who Lived looked very impressed that the magical community had thought of nearly everything so they would be able to get along without muggle interference, even having their own separate, secret hospitals.

The friends passed the Entrance Hall and paused to peer at the giant hourglasses along one wall, each filled with precious stones that represented each House respectively.

"Look," Sam smiled, "We're in the lead."

"Not for long," Ron argued good-naturedly, "Gryffindor's gonna win the House Cup. You just see."

As they watched, the sapphires that represented Ravenclaw increased; gems from the top of the glass fell, shimmering in the firelight from the torches along the walls to the bottom.

"I think they're going to win," Tracy commented.

Ron, pouting, growled, "Bunch of brown-nosers."

Slipping into a discussion about what they could do to win their Houses more points, the friends stepped into the Great Hall.

Sam and Tracy followed Ron and Harry to the Gryffindor table and sat down, their conversation turned to their upcoming flying lessons, which would be held the following Thursday.

"I'm going to be terrible," Harry muttered as he scooped some chips onto his plate and drizzled ketchup on top, "I just know it. I bet you all have had lots of practice."

"Not really," Sam told him, dishing beef stew into a bowl, "I've only ever flown on Dean's old broom. It's for little kids and doesn't go very high."

"Me 'oo," Ron added, stuffing a Cornish pasty into his mouth.

The boys turned to Tracy. She was peering down at the jacket potato on her plate.

"I don't know how to fly," she muttered, her cheeks going red, "I've never been on a broom."

"Never?" Harry asked, shocked.

Tracy shook her head.

"Not even when you were little?" Ron asked, picking up his second pasty.

"I'm…" Tracy hesitated, lifted her gaze to look at Sam and continued, "I don't like heights."

Ron laughed, perhaps unable to wrap his mind around the fact that a witch would be afraid of heights, and then started choking on pasty.

Sam, pounding his friend on the back, frowned.

"You didn't tell me that," he told her.

"I don't tell many people," Tracy commented, spooning gravy onto her potato, "It's embarrassing."

"What are you going to do on Thursday?" Harry asked, "Can you sit out?"

Tracy shook her head, "I don't think so."

Sam, his hand stinging from hitting Ron's back, patted the girl's shoulder instead.

"Don't worry," he tried to soothe, "I'll be right beside you. I won't let anything happen to you."

Tracy smiled and pushed her glasses up.

"Well, we still have a few days before flying lessons," she announced and stabbed her jacket potato with her fork.

"HEY!" an irritated voice called out and, looking around, the friends saw Percy Weasley making his way down the table towards them.

"Oh brother," Ron muttered.

"I've told you before, they're Slytherins," Percy complained, hands on his hips, "They aren't allowed to sit here."

"Come off it, Percy," Ron said, "It's Sam, it's not like Malfoy's sitting with us."

"Rules are rules, Ron," his older brother continued, "They're to be followed."

"Whatever," Ron muttered and grabbed his third pasty from the platter in front of him.

"I shall have to go to Professors McGonagall and Snape if this continues," Percy told them in a self-important tone.

"Why? Sam and Tracy have been sitting with us on-and-off all week," Ron reminded his brother, waving the pasty in his hand, "If McGonagall wanted them back at their own table, she'd have said something by now."

"Your disregard for the rules is very troubling," Percy told him, "I will write to Mother about you."

Ron shrugged, "Go ahead. She'll probably just tell you off for being a prat anyway."

The older Weasley son's face turned beet red and he stormed off, but not to the teachers' table, instead, he simply sat back down where he had been earlier.

"Why is he so against us sitting here?" Tracy asked.

"He doesn't like that we're Slytherins," Sam told her quickly.

"I know," Tracy sighed, "But surely there are worse rules to be breaking. And Ron's right, if McGonagall had a problem with us being at her House's table, she could have told us anytime this past week."

Both Ron and Sam looked down at their food. They didn't want to tell her the truth. Yes, them being Slytherin was a part of the reason Percy didn't want them sitting together, but it was also that he had some very strong opinions about Sam. Although the boy seemed to humour the rest of his family when the Winchesters were visiting, it was clear he didn't think the youngest member of the family should be fraternizing with his brothers and sister.

Sam stabbed a chunk of beef angrily as he recalled the conversation he and the two youngest Weasleys had overheard shortly after he'd had his first vision at the Burrow. He didn't remember everything that was said but he vividly recalled Percy using the words 'sick' and 'dangerous' and 'nuisance' when speaking with Mr and Mrs Weasley about him.

The rest of the family did not have the same opinion of Sam as Percy did and refused to shun the Winchesters because of him and for that he was very grateful. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't be friends with Ginny and Ron.

The friends finished their lunch in relative silence, Sam and Tracy making their way to the Slytherin Common room afterwards so the girl could start on her homework.

Sitting down side-by-side on one of the black leather couches, Tracy sighed as she dumped her textbooks, parchment, ink and quills in between them.

"I should have done the same as you," she told Sam, "And finished this during the week."

"At least the weather's nice," Sam told her, glancing over his shoulder at the sunlight turning the water outside the windows a bright jade green, "So Malfoy and Pansy should stay outside for a while."

Tracy nodded and opened her copy of A Beginner's Guide To Transfiguration.

W

The rest of the weekend was spent doing homework; writing and rewriting essays and answering discussion questions posed by professors.

Finally, on Sunday evening, Tracy rolled up the length of parchment on which she had written an essay for Professor Quirrell on how to tell the difference between vampires and Strigoi.

"Let's go to dinner," Sam told her, "I'm starving."

"I'm just going to put this away," Tracy told him and gathered her school items into her arms and dashed into the girls' dormitory.

Sam watched a group of fourth-year girls walk towards the entrance to the Common Room, giggling, apparently, over a seventh-year boy they thought was cute, and was once again reminded that not everyone who had been sorted into Slytherin was evil. The entire idea of being evil as a requirement to be sorted into the House once again seemed absolutely absurd.

"Ready to go?" Tracy asked as she stepped out of her dormitory and pushed her glasses up her nose.

Sam nodded and they left the Common Room and headed towards the Great Hall.

W

Classes on Monday went well (they had Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology in the morning) until the afternoon when Professor Quirrell reminded Tracy she had a detention with him and then they had to sit through double Potions with the Ravenclaws.

"He wants to see me after dinner," Tracy told Sam as they left the dungeons and walked back towards the Great Hall for the evening meal, not stopping to drop their books off in their Common Room.

"What do you think he'll make you do?" Sam asked as they sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, away from Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.

"He said something about an essay as to why I should pay attention in his class," Tracy shrugged, "Probably won't be that bad."

"Can't be as bad as cleaning out cauldrons by hand with Snape," Sam muttered, spooning carrots and peas onto his plate.

All too soon dinner finished and Tracy said goodbye to Sam, heading towards the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom. Pulling the strap of his messenger bag higher up his shoulder, Sam caught sight of his brother across the hall before he could slink away with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan.

"Hey! Dean!" Sam called out and raised a hand, waving it in the air so his brother would see him.

The older Winchester stopped and waited.

"Hiya Sammy," Dean grinned, "How's it going?"

Sam smiled back, "Pretty good."

"I see you're hanging around with that girl a lot," Dean commented, winking.

"What about it?" Sam asked, suddenly defensive.

"Nothing! I'm just glad you've got a friend in your own House," Dean raised his hands, laughing slightly, "No, really though, I'm happy for you."

"She looks a bit familiar," Fred Weasley entered the conversation. George was showing Lee something in his pocket off to the side, speaking in low tones so as not to be overheard.

"She's got a brother in Ravenclaw," Sam shrugged.

"I know!" Fred announced, "She's Roger Davis' little sister!"

Dean scowled, "He thinks he such a hotshot."

"Yeah," Fred agreed, "But we've got a better team."

"Anyway," Dean returned his attention to Sam, "I've gotta go. I have an essay I have to write for Professor Sinistra."

"When is it due?" Sam asked, not wanting Dean to go back to his Common Room so soon.

"Tomorrow," Dean answered somewhat sheepishly.

Sam, somehow, was not surprised that his brother would wait until the day before an assignment was due to actually do the assignment.

"I'll see you late, Sammy," Dean turned to leave, George and Lee already disappearing into a throng of students leaving the Great Hall.

"Bye," Sam muttered and sighed, joining the students heading into the Entrance Hall.

Sam walked slowly down towards the dungeons. He didn't really want to be in his dormitory all by himself, without Tracy. But he didn't have much choice. He knew if he were found wandering around the castle, he'd get House points taken away, or worse, wind up with another detention.

Resigning himself to the fact that he would have to face Malfoy and his cronies alone for at least a couple of hours, Sam found the blank space along the wall which hid the Slytherin dormitories, spoke the password quickly and stepped inside. He breathed a sigh of relief; it looked like Malfoy was still in the Great Hall.

Deciding that he could get a head start on his homework, Sam sat down at one of the tables in the Common Room and took out his books, ink, quills and parchment.

He had just started in on his Herbology homework when the secret door to the dormitories opened and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle stepped inside (the latter two still cramming biscuits into their mouths) quickly followed by Pansy and her group of girls.

"Hey, Winchester!" Malfoy called out from across the room, "Where's your girlfriend?"

Sam ignored the taunt and dipped his quill into his bottle of ink, writing the first sentence of his Herbology homework.

"Winchester!" the blond-haired boy called again, this time coming closer, "I asked you a question!"

Don't answer him, don't look at him; Sam told himself as he continued to write, not wanting to get into a fight again.

"I told you before, Winchester," Malfoy was now right beside Sam, "You'll answer me when I'm talking to you."

Sam stuck his quill into the ink bottle and looked up at the other boy.

"Yes?" he asked.

Malfoy narrowed steel-grey eyes, clearly unsure of how to proceed. From behind him, Pansy started singing, "Whiny and Davis sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Where's your girlfriend?" Malfoy asked.

"She's not my girlfriend," Sam told the other boy, calmly.

"Then why do you always follow her around like a little puppy!" Pansy crowed, cackling as the other girls continued singing.

"I could ask the same about you and Malfoy, Pansy," Sam told the girl, whose face went bright red- either with anger or embarrassment it was hard to tell- and reached out to start packing his things into his messenger bag.

"Don't you talk to her like that!" Malfoy snapped and swept his hand across the table, sending Sam's books, parchment and quills to the floor. The bottle of ink smashed against his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

"Why don't you clean up that mess, Winchester?" Pansy asked.

"Or better yet," Malfoy added, smiling cruelly, "Go get your Dad to come here and do it."

Anger flared inside Sam and he stood, hand automatically going to his wand in his pocket.

The blond-haired boy's smile widened, seeing as he had hit a nerve.

"I don't even know why you're here Winchester," he taunted, "You've shown about as much magic as your squib father has."

"Shut up," Sam growled, his grip on his wand tightening.

"When it comes time to pick careers," Pansy added, "You'll end up being a caretaker!"

Sam's hand slipped out of his pocket, his wand feeling hot beneath his fingers.

"I said shut up!" he snapped.

"Ooooh," Pansy cried in mock fear, "I'm so scared!"

"Go ahead," Malfoy egged Sam on, "Do it. We'll see how Snape likes it when I tell him you attacked me."

Sam pointed his wand right at the other boy's face, his hand shaking.

"You'll get expelled," Malfoy jeered, "Then you can follow your Dad around and learn how to clean. Won't he be proud?"

The blond-haired boy grinned deliriously, clearly imagining Sam carrying a mop and pail behind his father, watching his classmates learn magic while he was stuck with his janitorial duties.

"Oi!" the group of eleven-year-olds quieted as a loud, rough voice cut through the laughter and they turned to see a large thirteen-year-old boy glaring daggers at them.

"Wot's going on here?" the older boy demanded.

Pansy elbowed Draco. The blond boy puffed out his chest and stepped towards the third year student, "We were… uh…"

"You were picking on this boy," the older Slytherin said matter-of-factly, pointing at Sam.

"He's a-" Draco began but the thirteen-year-old interrupted.

"-A Slytherin. Just like you, just like me. There's no reason for you lot to be teasing him. The Hat sorted him into this House and you know its never been wrong yet."

"But-" Pansy stepped up beside Draco and tried to defend their position.

"If I see you at it again," the thirteen-year-old threatened, "You'll have the entire Quidditch team to answer to."

Pansy opened her mouth but Draco grabbed her shoulder and tried to steer her away. He had seen his House's Quidditch team and knew better than to get on their bad side.

"Come on, Pansy, he's not worth it," Reluctantly, Pansy motioned to the other girls and they followed her into their dormitory. Draco, Goyle and Crabbe retreated into their own dormitory quickly, as well, leaving Sam to gather his spilt belongings by himself.

"You all right?" the thirteen-year-old asked as Sam shoved his wand back into his pocket and bent down to collect his items.

He nodded.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked. For the whole first week of school, the older students had been witness to Malfoy and Pansy picking on both him and Tracy without interfering.

"I was getting tired of their noise," the older boy commented off-handedly, but then shook his head, "I'm half-blood too. I couldn't sit back and let them bully you. That might have been me in my first year."

Sam nodded, "Thanks… um…"

"Warrington," the third-year replied, "Cassius Warrington."

Sam smiled, "Thanks, Cassius."

The older boy didn't smile back, "Just keep your head down. I won't step in again."

Sam nodded. They gathered his belongings together in silence before the older student went into the boys' dormitory.

Sam decided to stay in the Common Room and wait for Tracy to return from her detention with Professor Quirrell. To occupy himself, he tried to wipe as much of the ink as he could from his Herbology book.

When Tracy appeared in the secret doorway, Sam decided not to tell her about Malfoy and the others.

W

The next morning, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy walked past Sam and Tracy as though they were invisible, which suited Sam just fine.

"Daphne told me what happened last evening," Tracy told Sam quietly, at breakfast.

Sam, munching on a piece of toast with blueberry preserve, nearly choked.

"Did she mention she was right there with the other girls while Pansy and Malfoy were teasing me?"

Tracy lifted her gaze to the blonde-haired girl sitting with Lily Moon, Pansy Parkinson, and Milicent Bulstrode.

"I thought she was all right," she muttered.

Sam shrugged and said nothing more. Daphne may be friendly towards Tracy, but she certainly had no qualms about picking on him when in a gang with the other girls.

Their first class of the day was Herbology. Sam dragged his textbook from his bag and tried to pry the pages apart as carefully as possible.

"Here," a girl's voice said from across the table and Sam looked up to see the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl Ron didn't like holding her wand out, "I can help you."

Sam shoved his book towards the girl and she waved her wand, the dried ink cracking on the pages before falling off and crumbling into a fine, black dust.

"Thanks," Sam said gratefully, pulling his book back and turning the crisp, white pages.

The girl gave him a small smile in return before Professor Sprout started talking.

W

In Charms class they revisited the levitation spell they had been learning the previous week.

Sam listened, one hand propping his chin up, as Professor Flitwick reviewed the proper wand-holding, enunciation and wrist movement in order to perform the spell.

As Sam watched the tiny professor make his feather float into the air with ease, something happened, a ripple, no, a shudder went through the classroom and suddenly, just as soon as his teacher and classmates had been there around him, they were gone.

The tables in front of Sam were broken, cracked down the middle, legs ripped off, lying on their sides, chairs stacked haphazardly in the centre of the room as though someone had been planning a bonfire. The windows were smashed, a chill wind screaming through the empty panes. The sconces along the walls empty of fire, casting the room into a gloom. Standing where Professor Flitwick had been mere seconds before, was the wizard with yellow eyes.

This couldn't be happening! Not here! Not at Hogwarts!

Sam sat up, his heart skipping a beat. The wizard was looking straight at him.

Fear erupted in the eleven-year-old and he scrambled over the ruined tables, heading for the nearest exit as quickly as possible.

The yellow-eyed wizard did not follow but held out his bloody hand towards Sam, a smile on his lips.

Sam flung open the door to the classroom and dashed out. The sconces along the hallways were empty and the corridors dark. The boy slipped on something wet on the stone floor- was it blood- and tried to grab onto the bannister as he approached one of the staircases. His hand slid on the stone railing and he had a brief second to see that his palm was indeed smeared with blood, before he fell, striking his head against the railing as he fell and losing consciousness.

W

Sam woke slowly, feeling groggy and sluggish. He didn't feel any pain but he wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep.

"Sammy?" a familiar voice whispered and he forced his eyelids up.

Dean's face peered concernedly down at him.

"Where am I?" Sam muttered, his mouth feeling as dry as cotton, "What happened?"

"You're in the Hospital Wing," Dean told him quietly, "You fell down a staircase."

Sam frowned for a moment, wondering how he could have done, and then recalled the sight of the ruined Charms classroom and the yellow-eyed wizard.

Groaning, Sam closed his eyes again.

"Are you okay? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head and opened his eyes again.

"I…" Sam muttered, "I saw him again, Dean."

His older brother nodded, "Ron told me you had one of your trances."

"Ron talked to you?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, "He's been waiting out in the hallway since Flitwick brought you here. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him in 'cause he's not family."

Sam sat higher on the bed and peered down the long, narrow room that made up the Hospital Wing. Besides him, there was a seventh-year Slytherin girl who looked as though she had tried to magically apply makeup and ended up swelling her face, and a second-year Hufflepuff boy who appeared to be unconscious.

"I want to see him," Sam told his brother, "Is Tracy out there too?"

His heart clenched in fear as he waited for Dean's reply. Suppose Tracy had seen him in his trance and was scared of him now? What if she refused to speak to him, no longer wanting to be his friend? Or worse, what if she started picking on him like Malfoy and the others?"

And speaking of Malfoy; Sam swore under his breath. The blond-haired boy would have been sure to see what had happened.

Madam Pomfrey, the grey-haired, sharp-eyed school matron, sat that Sam was awake and hurried over to him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, magically making a thermometer appear out of thin air and sticking it into Sam's mouth while she pressed the palm of one hand to his brow, "You had quite the tumble, young man."

Pulling the thermometer out of Sam's mouth, the matron grunted in a self-satisfied way and waved it, causing it to vanish.

"I feel fine," Sam told her, "A little tired, but not hurt at all."

"I should say not," Madam Pomfrey commented, "I do know what I'm doing."

Sam peered quizzically at his brother.

"You cracked your head open, Sammy," Dean told him, "Broke your nose and some ribs."

Sam cringed. He was very glad Madam Pomfrey was a competent witch.

"Can my friends come in?" he asked the matron.

"I think not," she decided, "You're still healing."

"But I'm all right now!" Sam argued.

"Madam Pomfrey, they've been waiting to see since Charms class," Dean took his brother's side.

Sam peered desperately at the matron, using what Dean affectionately called his 'puppy-eyes' on the woman.

"Oh, all right," she acquiesced, "But only for a few minutes."

Dean grinned and stood up from the chair he had been sitting on and hurried towards the door to the hospital wing.

As soon as the door was opened, the elder Winchester brother was nearly bowled over by Ron, Tracy and Harry as they rushed up the aisle.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"That looked awful!"

"Flitwick cancelled class early!"

"Malfoy couldn't stop laughing!"

"CHILDREN!" The questions and exclamations stopped straight away at the sound of the matron's raised voice.

"I will ask you not to bombard the boy with questions," Madam Pomfrey told them.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, and turned to Sam, "Was it one of your… you know… trances?"

Sam nodded.

"It looked like you were having some kind of a fit," Tracy mumbled, her eyes were bloodshot behind her glasses.

Sam glanced down at the blanket.

"I'm okay," he told them, "I sometimes get these… trances… I have ever since I was a little kid, but they're nothing, really."

He looked up and smiled at Tracy, trying to comfort her.

"Is that sort of thing normal?" Harry asked, his voice uncertain.

"Uh… no," Ron answered, "Not really."

The Boy Who Lived looked like he wasn't sure how to reply to that.

Tracy reached out and touched Sam's hand.

"That was really scary, Sam," she muttered.

Slowly, the boy pulled his hand out from under hers, "It wasn't much fun for me either."

Dean returned, standing behind Ron and Harry.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked, thinking that his father should be here as well.

"He was here earlier," his brother told him, "When they first brought you in. But once he realized you were going to be okay he left."

Sam lowered his head, slightly hurt.

"Okay," Madam Pomfrey's voice interrupted, "I think that's enough. This boy needs his rest."

"How long do I have to stay here?" Sam asked.

"I'd like to keep you overnight if that's all right with you," the matron commented sarcastically and Sam nodded, chagrinned.

"You can go back to your dormitory in the morning," she added in a softer tone once Sam's friends and brother had left the Hospital Wing.

SPN

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his fingers tented in front of his face, as he peered at the teachers assembled before him.

"What are we supposed to do, Headmaster?" Professor Flitwick asked, "Surely this has to do with-"

"That poor boy!" Sprout interrupted, "How can we help?"

"What do you think, Severus?" Professor McGonagall turned to the Potions Master, "Sam Winchester is in your house."

Snape looked as though he was loathed to take on any form of responsibility regarding John Winchester's youngest son.

"I think that for now, we watch and keep the child safe," Dumbledore spoke up.

The teachers turned to him.

"That's it?" McGonagall asked, stunned, "Do nothing?"

"Does John know why this is happening?" Flitwick asked.

"I have not told John about the curse," Dumbledore admitted, "I am waiting for the right moment."

"Forgive me, Headmaster," Snape spoke in his quiet tone, "But when do you believe the right time will be? When the boy is killed because of this?"

"Who says that's going to happen?" McGonagall asked, glaring at Snape, "Azazel's still in Azkaban, is he not?"

"Yes," Dumbledore answered, "He is still in Azkaban."

The Transfigurations teacher seemed to relax somewhat.

"Do you suppose the others are experiencing the same affliction?" Sprout asked tentatively.

Dumbledore inclined his head, "I am not sure. But I will send a letter to Ilvermorny straight away."

"I want all of you to watch young Sam and keep him safe if he does go into another trance," Dumbledore told the Heads of Houses.

As they turned to leave, the Headmaster called out to the Potions teacher.

"Severus, stay for a moment if you will," he asked of the younger man, "I wish to speak with you in private."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave kudos or a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first crossover between Harry Potter and Supernatural. Please only positive comments.
> 
> Feel free to Comment or leave Kudos!


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